CONTAINS CONTENT:
Brief strong language.
{{Un-edited}}
Marielle wandered into the kitchen at Valorant, not entirely sure of what she was after… something salty? Sweet? She poked her head into the cabinet that usually had all the snacks and pursued the variety; cookies, crackers, meat sticks, candy, trail mixes. She settled on a small bag of plain potato chips and paused when she smelled frost.
Austin leaned his head in, “boo,” he whispered and she flicked her gaze to him with a bit of a start. He grinned and she grinned back. In the last few days, he had felt a little more like himself to her. He was joking more, she saw him smiling and talking to Hazal, Han and occasionally some of the others for recreation as opposed to work only, or attempts at seduction. There seemed to be more color in his cheeks. Marielle was quietly impressed with him.
“Hey,” she replied gaily.
His grin widened in his eyes and he gave her a quick hug. “Okay, so… Thanksgiving. It’s like four days away. Do you want to talk about any of it?”
She straightened and went to one of the two fridges, knowing that she’d need something to drink with all the salt. Her mind briefly wandered – as did his – to that day after they first met when they played their twenty-five questions game and she split a beer with him. Things seemed tense back then, neither of them had any idea just how tense they were going to get. It was hard to believe that that had only been four and a half months ago.
“Uh… I mean, the reality is that I honestly cannot even picture you having family at this point. You’re so… roguish,” she chuckled, knowing how that word was probably going to affect him and telling herself to stop throwing out words and phrases like that although she’d added a sarcastic slant to it that he probably caught.
He gave her a soft, knowing smirk. “Yeah, I have family,” he said dismissively.
“Tell me about them?” she asked, absentmindedly grabbing a beer. Then she realized that she had when she cracked the top off and she glanced down at it with a soft, nostalgic smile before taking a swig, setting it on the table, and gesturing to it with her head.
He knew what memory she was in and he grinned, took it, taking a swallow and setting it back to her. “Well,” he began, leaning his hip on the island and partially sitting on it. “My dad is like me,” he explained. “Although, he’s a big Italian guy who sounds like he used to live in Jersey and I have to warn you- he’s a bit difficult to understand,” he said with a chuckle.
She took a swig and flicked her brows at him. “Oh?”
“Yeah, heavy accent-” he scratched his chin thoughtfully, “-he says you know after like every second sentence,” he explained with a laugh.
“When you say he’s like you-”
“He’s…” he put the side of his hand against the corner of his mouth as if trying to keep someone from hearing or reading his lips, “like… me,” he repeated then he dropped his hand. “He’s the one who led me down this path; got me the job. He’s retired, but… they still use him for things sometimes.” His speech was veiled on purpose. He reached over taking one of her chips.
She smacked his hand, making him drop it. “Get your own, asshat.”
He beamed, picked it up off the island and ate it anyway. She glowered at him, but it was tender. “Marielle,” he said, crunching loudly. “You’re not going to share with me? I thought we were friends.” She rolled her eyes through a smile and reached the bag out to him. He looked down into it and shook his head, “No, they suck.”
“What? They’re chips, chips don’t suck!”
“Oh, no, they do,” he deadpanned. “Besides, I’m a sour cream and onion kind of guy.”
“Ew,” she stated, plainly.
He chortled at her. “You know that you love them, too.”
“Salt and vinegar.”
He pursed his lips and flicked a brow. “Not bad,” he agreed.
She eyed his left hand; that ring was still there. When was this conversation going to turn sexual, intimate, or full of questions about the future?
“What about mom?” she continued.
“Beautiful,” he said with the softest smile, and he reached over and took another chip.
“Austin Michael Rancor! Make up your mind!”
“Oooh, my whole name, are you gonna punish me?” There it was. She rolled her eyes at him again, but couldn’t keep the abashed smile off her face. He leaned in a little more, “just make it hurt,” he drawled with a wink.
She rolled her eyes for the third time and went back to the pantry, popping in, and tossing him a bag of sour cream and onion chips. -It already hurts.
-More than you know. He caught the chips and for a moment, he held them in his hands, thumbing over the front of the bag thoughtfully. “So, mom is Tiffany. She’s several years younger than dad, blonde, super sweet.”
“Several years, huh? Your dad that kind of man?”
“He used to be,” he replied with a smile and he was on his fourth chip from his own bag. He slipped off the counter and went to the fridge, grabbing his own beer and coming back to her. “They’re both really nice, you’ll like them. They’ll like you.”
The smallest smile rested on her mouth as she took another sip. “So how many years is several years?”
“Uh… twelve I think?”
She shrugged. “So, Rick is how old?”
“I think he’s…” Austin screwed his eyes up for a minute in thought. “Sixty-five?”
“Oh, that’s not that bad,” Marielle said and tipped the bag back, letting all the crumbs tumble down into her mouth. A few missed, and traveled down her shirt. She wasn’t going after those in front of him, but both were aware of it and he smirked a little keeping his thoughts to himself although they would have sounded something like -I wouldn’t mind those sucky chips. He kept them further down in his subconscious so that she couldn’t hear.
She straightened a little like she heard that he was having a desirous thought, but the details and particulars were more guarded.
“I think… we’re getting better at that?” she asked.
He nodded, distantly. Neither of them wanted to get better at it.
They were silent for a moment and Marielle’s mind went to when they were in the van with Tundra and she couldn’t hear his thoughts. It’d made her skin crawl when he’d said, “because, I’m not thinking anything.”
She was understanding now that it might not have been that he wasn’t thinking anything, but that he’d learned to repress specific thoughts and feelings in a way that was not detectable to her. Then her mind wandered for a moment as she wondered if doing this was also hurtful… what if learning to push your thoughts down that much caused Tundra to not truly feel and register it when he had random thoughts or impulses that he eventually said yes to?
“I don’t think so,” Austin said aloud.
She shook her head with a heavy sigh having not realized that she’d projected all of that. “You don’t think it’s dangerous for you to have to keep pushing your thoughts and feelings down like that so I can’t hear them?”
He shook his head. “No. I think it’s practice for self-control.” He sighed and tipped his own bag back, collecting all the little crumbs in his mouth. Then washing it down with his beer. “Which I need,” he said matter of factly. “Right?” He was looking for any sort of clue into her big scheme that she always kept from him.
“I guess we all need that a little more,” she replied, and she went to throw her beer bottle away.
She could feel him slip off the island again and watch her every movement. His very presence was consuming in a way that she had never felt with a man before him. She could feel and sense his desire, his restraint, and what he would allow himself to do; watch her in awe and adoration.
-I still love you, darling. His voice whispered in her head.
She paused, not moving. -I know.
-Do you still love me?
-I’m not going to answer you anymore.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded defeatedly. “Our flight is Wednesday at 3PM. We’ll be there until Monday evening,” he explained.
“What’s the uh…” she paused, unsure of how to word her thoughts appropriately. “What’s the sleeping arrangement like?” She blurted.
He smirked and looked down. -My bed…both of us. “You’ll get the bed. I’ll either take the chair, or they have an office that might have a futon.”
“Might?” She quirked a suspicious brow at him.
“It was like, old,” he said, with a shrug. “I think they got it when I had just moved in.” He finished his beer and tossed the bottle. “Regardless, you get the bed. Don’t worry.”
“And you’re sleeping… in the same room?”
“I’m supposed to be protecting you, aren’t I?” He turned back to her and slipped his hands into his pockets, thumbing his belt loop on his black jeans. “Doesn’t mean I have to be in the same bed with you.” -Even though I want to be. But trust me, I’m excited enough to get to spend some time with you this week. Just us, Marielle.
She smiled softly, at least that particular statement wasn’t too overtly sexual, but boy did she feel it. She wanted to be curled around him in bed, too. She didn’t know what it was about Austin, but being in his arms was one of the more comfortable, comforting, peaceful feelings in the world. She felt like she could confidently say that it probably felt like being in the womb, or wrapped in the warmest, softest blanket imaginable, and the feeling of his heartbeat and the air gently going into and out of his lungs was just intoxi- She stopped… she was projecting, wasn’t she?
He blinked dreamily, and smiled pensively at her. He rubbed his bottom lip with his middle finger. “I feel the same way, darling,” he whispered.
Then he grabbed an apple, sunk his teeth into it, and left.
She felt an odd stirring within her again. He was acting more like himself in the last few days and she wasn’t sure why. Was he preparing to try and make one final plea and declaration during their trip; trying to get her to like him more? She wasn’t certain.
As she was about to leave, she heard Sabine’s voice as she came into the kitchen with Han.
“But, I’m not good with this stuff,” Sabine was saying. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Marielle, her hand shoved into a second yellow bag of chips. Marielle awkwardly pulled her hand from the bag and put one in her mouth.
Han also paused, and looked from one woman to the other. “Neither am I, but do you know who is? Marielle,” she said, gesturing with her head to Marielle.
There was silence for a moment as Sabine looked from Han to Marielle, then back to Han. It was at this time that Marielle also noted that Sabine had an open magazine in her hands and suddenly the topic of conversation became clear. Marielle approached slowly and glanced the pages over. Sabine was looking at wedding dresses and pages were open displaying a lovely, raven-haired beauty in a big, billowy wedding gown. This wasn’t Sabine’s style at all.
The scenario became even clearer in Marielle’s mind when she realized that Sabine didn’t want to look or feel anything like she did when she married Morgan. She didn’t want the memories, or even the same feeling. She wanted to move on and be allowed to be herself.
When Sabine and Morgan got married, they did so in a Cemetery at midnight. It sounded cartoonish on paper, but it was what Sabine had wanted, and she had walked down the aisle in a custom-made dress that screamed gothic horror and opera all at the same time. There had been a small chapel and they’d lit the path up to it in drippy candles and black roses and inside Morgan was in black leather, a tie, and eye liner.
Marielle had been a bride’s maid and her heart had leapt for joy when she noted that Morgan smiled only briefly at her, but the kind of smile that said, “here we go…” and nothing more.
When Sabine had entered and walked toward him, she visibly saw his heart rupture in his chest as his dark eyes had filled with tears and his expression showed her deep adoration and joy.
The entire event had been like an experience right out of a movie- pure art and passion all poured out into that little space as a priest spoke. It was like being inside the most gorgeous of haunted houses, and feeling romance, dark art, and love.
Now was different, she’d been proposed to by John and she and John were a unique pair with an entirely different situation.
Sabine took in a deep breath and stepped a little closer to Marielle. For a moment, Marielle had the urge to back up- until recently, their relationship had been so tumultuous that she was unsure how to translate anything from Sabine that wasn’t venom, spite, or bitterness.
“Okay, I’ll listen to Masin’s opinion.”
Marielle’s chest tightened as she tried to hold back tears. Goodness, how nice it felt to hear her call her Masin again. She swallowed and glanced down before taking in a deep breath and speaking. She knew Sabine so well. “I think the problem is that you’re trying too hard to be something that you’re not,” Marielle said gesturing to the photo.
Sabine blinked a few times as if processing what Marielle had said and looked down at the picture. She turned the page to find another woman in a fluffy, white wedding gown. “I understand the particulars of your situation,” Marielle said gently and the tone that she used made it clear that she was referring to not wanting to do something too much like her and Morgan’s wedding. “But you’re marrying a phantom,” Marielle said, a smirk crossing her face. “So be yourself and wear the hooded cape and black gown,” she added with a knowing, adoring grin.
Sabine looked down at the magazine in her hands like it had caught fire, and turned, throwing it into the trashcan as she realized that Marielle was right.
Both women paused as they looked at one another and Sabine crossed her arms over her chest. “Would you- sort of… maybe be willing to go shopping with me today?”
“Or any day,” Marielle replied and she turned to the fridge to get a coke to take back to her office. “When is the wedding?”
“We’re actually getting married tomorrow evening, we don’t want to wait,” she said looking down. “And…yes, you’re invited.” Sabine was still speaking tightly, but Marielle understood everything.
“You have my number, text me the details,” she explained, knowing that any further show of friendship, intimacy, or love would only make Sabine uncomfortable at this point.
Han smiled at Sabine and the two began making other plans.
Marielle was happy to see a text come in no more than ten minutes later. “Okay… 4PM I have an appointment at a local dress shop.” The address was in the text and Marielle understood her to be asking her to join.
-I’ll be there. She texted back.
***
Vincent put his phone back in his pocket after he texted to Marielle, “Okay, love.”
She’d just told him that she was going wedding dress shopping with Sabine. He smiled softly.
He wanted them to be happy.
John had been spending a lot of time in the training rooms and Vincent was occasionally going down there and asking to join him. He always agreed with a quiet nod, and they said very little to one another except things like, “good job” and “maybe try…-” when they had a specific suggestion for one another.
Since John could teleport, Vincent had always felt a strange kinship to him, in his own dimension and here. They had been friends, but not in the way that most people considered that kind of relationship. They did a lot of training together, and sometimes got a beer after the fact, but didn’t really speak. John’s knowledge of the world was limited to memory of the last five years – which was mostly in the room that he’d been confined to – and what Sabine told and showed him. In many ways, Sabine was all that he had. In Vincent’s own dimension, there had even been rumors of her trying to control him once Vincent had helped to give him something of a life back. Whatever their situation back home, now, they were married, and apparently happy to be with one another.
Klara came to Vincent’s side juggling several rolled up schematics and plans. “Do we want to look over these now?” She asked pushing her glasses up, which resulted in her nearly dropping one of the large scrolls.
He caught it, and gestured to a nearby table. “Let’s put them there,” he said. Klara rolled them out.
One of the plans related to the teleportation devices that they were making for those who would go with Vincent in a few weeks. The device itself was like a watch and operated with several small buttons. Cory and his followers had used these same devices, and Vincent had never told anyone in this world that he had actually been the one to invent the final version. It wasn’t that dissimilar to the one that he wore that aided in his own teleportation conduction.
He moved on to the Valorant schematics and the plans for the spike, which were already partially completed due to Sabine’s willingness to cooperate as well as Klara and Tayane working on it with him late into the night at times.
He took in a deep breath and shook his head. “I just want to know if we can shore up the radius a bit,” Vincent said looking over the drawings and making a circle around all of Valorant headquarters with his fingertip.
Klara shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard.” She pointed. “This is where it will cover all of Valorant and stay within the lines,” Klara said.
Vincent removed his glasses and bit the end staring at her fingertip… it was in the courtyard between the fountain and the statue of the maiden taking flight. There were some cement blocks in between along the walls and a few jutted out from them as well creating places to duck and hide.
Vincent stared at it in silence for what seemed like a long time to Klara and eventually said, “So, right about here?” And he pointed to the just beyond the fountain while ghosts of a familiar song and a despondent woman, angry at her boyfriend and crying alone swirled around his head.
Klara nodded, twisting the ends of her own glasses. “Yeah, about there will do.”
“It won’t be perfect, but it’ll be close.”
“And these buildings here.” She gestured again to the area outside of Valorant and across the street. “Some of them will make for good vantage points.”
“Chamber will be there.” Vincent forced a smile at her and tugged on his tie around her neck. “It’s well done,” he complimented.
“But, you’re not happy.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” he whispered and he walked back to his computer station and sat down. “Go ahead and take your lunch,” he said nodding to her. “I’m still working on the other teleporters.”
Klara looked around for a moment as if realizing that the building was a bit more silent than usual. “Where is everyone?”
“Some people went away for Thanksgiving. Mateo went with Tala to Nathaniel’s.”
“We’re leaving to my parent’s house, but only until Saturday, then we’ll be back. When are we trying to go over there- uh, to Cory’s world?”
“The third,” Vincent said distantly and he continued to look off for a few seconds before he turned his attention to the computer screen.
“I’m going to go get some sandwiches,” she said softly. He nodded slowly as he typed on the keyboard.
She stood for a moment twisting her hands together. He gave her his profile. “I- I’ll never forgive you for Everette Linde,” she began. Then she winced and bit her bottom lip. “But, I think that I can still call you friend.”
“Why are you telling me that?” Vincent asked.
She shrugged a single shoulder and gave him his tie back. Then she left in silence. He was alone again.
Vincent typed for a few minutes as he stared at the schematics for his teleporter and took a moment to lean back and stretch before he decided to get up and go to the side of the room where the coffee pot and cups were.
He started up a batch and turned, eyes locking with the ones looking back at him. “Hello, Austin.”
Austin approached him, slowly lifting the apple that he was still eating and taking a large, crunchy bite. “Want to know something that’s always baffled me?” He asked, chewing loudly.
“What’s that, Austin?” Vincent asked, eyes focused and unfaltering.
“That day- that day that you finally spoke after you… you know, pulled a pistol on Marielle when you were asleep and she scared the shit out of you because you…” he leaned a little closer, “weren’t expecting to get attacked?” Vincent looked down. “So, you were on edge…right?” There was a pause and Austin took another large bite. “You went through all of that torture because you had to have time to figure out what your story was, didn’t you?” He cleaned the meat from the core. “I mean here you are just thinking that you’re sliding into another dimension to find Marielle and you don’t even realize that they’re on your tail and not that far behind you- a matter of uh,-” he screwed his eyes up for a moment thinking, “-three weeks?” There was silence. Austin scoffed. “You had no idea that they were coming after you, did you?” He shook his head at Vincent, “you thought you’d killed the only two or three people who could have possibly built something to follow you- the O’fallon’s that is, and that if they did figure it out, your dimensional scar would be long gone. You didn’t figure on Cory.”
Vincent tipped his chin back, the coffee pot crinkling, signaling the finality of the brew. He turned, got a cup, and poured some before he added some sugar and cream, then offered it to Austin. He shook his head. Vincent nodded and drank it. “Yes, all of that is true.”
“See, I knew that you were lying that first day that you had us all in the meeting room, I’m assuming that she did, too. But I could never fully figure out why,” he smirked as if he’d figured him out completely. “That was it, wasn’t it? You had to have time to figure out your story.”
“Yes.” Vincent finished the coffee and tossed the cup.
“How far were you from telling Marielle that she was your wife and that you’d come across dimensions to find her? She was certainly simpering and panting for you.” Vincent was silent. Austin took a predatory step toward him. “Minutes? Seconds?”
“I would have told her some version of all of that within the hour,” he sighed, removed his glasses, cleaned them on his lab coat and replaced them. “That was the plan anyway.”
“Except… that your story is not exactly true either, is it?” he growled, and Vincent noted him fingering the black ring with his thumb. “Marielle is my wife.”
He flicked his gaze back to Austin’s face. “Did you come here to gloat?”
Austin shrugged exaggeratedly. “Sure.”
“What’s your point?”
Austin glared at him, darkly. “I don’t know what you’re planning with all of this. I don’t know if you’re telling the truth about killing Cory or how any of that is going to go down. I don’t even know if your supposed motivations are honest.” He closed another step between them so that he was threatening. “But I know this. If you hurt Marielle, I will end you, and don’t for one minute think that challenging me on that will go well for you. You may be a near perfect marksman, but you and I know both know who could take who apart if we really had to knock skulls.”
“Yeah, and what about your motivations? Your intentions?”
“They don’t matter anymore, Vincent, she’s chosen you. I would still die for her. Could you say that? Or are you just that selfish and proud?”
Vincent paused, as if considering. “Yes.”
“Your hesitation isn’t inspiring.”
Vincent turned his spine to steel.
Austin was practically breathing down his throat and even though Vincent was about three inches taller, Austin was crowding the entire space with his demeanor and presence. “Hurt her, or betray them?” He gestured toward the hall. “I will tear you apart,” he hissed. Then he turned and left throwing, “brother,” over his shoulder.
When he left, Vincent stared at the floor, fighting tears. They were not because of Austin’s threats. He’d dealt with Austin before and in truth, at this point if Vincent actually found himself trying to hurt, or hurting Marielle, he’d want Austin to put a fist through his skull and put him out of his misery.
Was this misery? To some extent, it was.
At some point after he’d left, he’d realized that all paths eventually crossed him with both Marielle, and Austin. There was no way around it, no matter what he did or how hard he tried. She had been married to him in every other dimension that he’d found her in where she was still alive.
He sank into his chair and put his forehead to his folded arms as he thought well, now only one of them lives, and she’s with Chamber. His heart broke as he felt the weight of that realization all over again. He’d killed them all. Not directly, not on purpose, but because he’d tried to play God and toy with fate.
And the things that he’d learned along the way? He’d never forgive himself for so much of it; the bad decisions, the fact that he had killed people, the fact that doubles were genetically you, but not exactly like you in personality, past, and future.
He wouldn’t accept that Marielle would be with Austin, no. If she chose it, yes, but he wouldn’t just accept it. He’d go and kill Cory, and whisk Marielle away for a few months. If she wanted to come back to Valorant, so be it, he’d come with her. But he wouldn’t just lay down and give up, yet. Not until she made it clear that she wanted Austin. Marielle was his, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure it stayed that way despite everything, even the affair.
The affair… How it twisted in his gut just to think about it. He removed his glasses and dragged his fingers down his face.
He should have just shot Austin when he had the chance.
The very thought of him kissing her, and touching her… he smashed a fist against the top of the desk.
Then sat up, cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders a few times, and started to type again.
He figured that he’d be alone for a while again, but to his surprise about five minutes later, he heard another familiar voice behind him.
“I’m leaving for the evening,” Sabine said, as she set something down on her workspace.
“Thank you for all your help,” he whispered, not looking back at her.
But she paused behind him. “There’s something that has been bothering me for a few weeks now. Something that I’ve wanted to ask you.”
He sighed. Oh no. Now what? He turned his attention to her. “Yes?”
She looked down, her expression as if she didn’t know how to get the words out. “My husband and my son… they are alive in other dimensions, aren’t they?”
“They are not in mine,” he explained. “Ironically something similar happened at Valorant. There was an explosion, and it claimed Morgan and Peter and altered John.” They were both silent for a few moments. “But I was in a dimension or two where one or the other lived, yes.” Her face contorted and she looked down, trying to hide her tears. “In one, Peter didn’t ask to come to work that day. In another, Morgan and Peter were both home and you and Omen are simply friends. He was actually owned by a specific corporation and was a stealth killer before your friendship in that dimension.”
Sabine nodded, her expression the most compassionate toward him that he’d ever seen. She didn’t need to say anything. He knew that she was saying that she understood him in a different way, now. “Goodnight,” she said quietly, and left quickly.