[Yeah. Yeah, Fiddleford can't argue that. He also can't bring himself to really be mad about it. How could he? He's the man who started a cult, found out what that cult did and how horrible it was for everyone involved, and still stuck with the fourth god for over a year. Still insisted that was different. That it was better. And look at him now, officially throwing his lot in with the Haze. He feels like it's different. He wants to believe it is. He still expects the other shoe to drop at any second.]
Sweetheart.
[He raises one hand to cup Marco's cheek.]
I don't want to kick you while you're down. Don't got legs to kick you with anyway. [Haha. It's joke.] ...You really thought I was goin' to kick you out?
[His mouth moves in response to the joke. Or maybe it's just a nervous twitch.]
I... Well...
[A small nod. Of course he thought it was over - and he wouldn't have blamed Fiddleford if that were what he wanted. When the reality of what Marco did sank in, the part of him that still can't believe he's married, still can't believe Fiddleford loves him - that same vicious, self-hating part of him that tells him he'll never be fit for a high-level job again and he'll never be as quick-thinking and well-spoken and capable as he once was - began speaking too loudly.
But he won't say that. Especially because, now that he's in his husband's arms, another part of him chimes in, telling him so many of those dark, suffocating thoughts are nothing more than just that and he's not alone and he doesn't have to be - and as a result, he realises that walking Fiddleford through the entire emotional journey he's been through this past week would just cause unnecessary distress.
Marco leans into Fiddleford's touch. Letting out a breath, he closes his eyes.]
I thought wrong, huh?
[There's a joke to be made there, but Marco isn't ready to make it yet.]
[He rubs his thumb across Marco's cheek, careful of his claw. Given that it's been several years he's pretty good now at working around them.]
And I wouldn't have asked to if I didn't mean to stay. I'm not... I'm not happy about this, but we're goin' to keep movin' forward together. And the next time you get an idea like this, you just run it by me first. Alright? I'm your husband. You can talk to me.
[Marco stamps down the part of him that says this wasn't his idea alone, but then he has to rein in the part that did the stamping, too, because it's all too eager to make his head hurt and his chest feel tight again. To fight it, he brings his own hand to the hand on his cheek, leaves soft kisses at the base of Fiddleford's thumb. You're not eating yourself today, Brain. Not now.]
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Sweetheart.
[He raises one hand to cup Marco's cheek.]
I don't want to kick you while you're down. Don't got legs to kick you with anyway. [Haha. It's joke.] ...You really thought I was goin' to kick you out?
no subject
I... Well...
[A small nod. Of course he thought it was over - and he wouldn't have blamed Fiddleford if that were what he wanted. When the reality of what Marco did sank in, the part of him that still can't believe he's married, still can't believe Fiddleford loves him - that same vicious, self-hating part of him that tells him he'll never be fit for a high-level job again and he'll never be as quick-thinking and well-spoken and capable as he once was - began speaking too loudly.
But he won't say that. Especially because, now that he's in his husband's arms, another part of him chimes in, telling him so many of those dark, suffocating thoughts are nothing more than just that and he's not alone and he doesn't have to be - and as a result, he realises that walking Fiddleford through the entire emotional journey he's been through this past week would just cause unnecessary distress.
Marco leans into Fiddleford's touch. Letting out a breath, he closes his eyes.]
I thought wrong, huh?
[There's a joke to be made there, but Marco isn't ready to make it yet.]
no subject
[He rubs his thumb across Marco's cheek, careful of his claw. Given that it's been several years he's pretty good now at working around them.]
And I wouldn't have asked to if I didn't mean to stay. I'm not... I'm not happy about this, but we're goin' to keep movin' forward together. And the next time you get an idea like this, you just run it by me first. Alright? I'm your husband. You can talk to me.
no subject
[Marco stamps down the part of him that says this wasn't his idea alone, but then he has to rein in the part that did the stamping, too, because it's all too eager to make his head hurt and his chest feel tight again. To fight it, he brings his own hand to the hand on his cheek, leaves soft kisses at the base of Fiddleford's thumb. You're not eating yourself today, Brain. Not now.]
... I can trust you. I know I can.