Gus the Second
You stare into the fishtank, watching Gus the Second and Friend swim circles around each other.
Really you’d only been trying to leave a note for Steven before you headed out to a recital, but the fish had caught your attention as they so often did when you tacked notes up.
“Thought you were heading out?” Marc says from behind you.
You hum and turn, watching Marc shuck on a shirt, his unruly curls still damp from the shower.
You resist the urge to cross the room and twirl your fingers through his hair.
This thing between you and Marc was still quite new, and you were trying to work out what exactly Marc’s boundaries were, to learn his signals of when touch was welcomed.
So, you stay where you are. He could be quite prickly some days and so you usually just wait for Marc to initiate touch.
“Is this fish really just named Friend?” You point to one of the goldfish swimming innocently along.
You’d never really thought about it before but now it seemed kind of sad, that one of them had a proper name and the other was simply the friend.
Marc shrugs, “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
You tilt your head to the side, watching Marc’s brows lift in askance at your concern before you turn back to the tank.
“Well, they’re kind of a metaphor for you and Steven, aren’t they?”
“No, they aren’t,” Marc says, approaching to stand next to you, the fish lazily swimming by your nose when you stoop to look at them.
“Sure they are,” you turn your head to watch Marc’s profile as he bends to watch them too. Marc is close to you, his arm brushing yours, and when you lean into him, he leans back into you.
As he watches the fish his nose scrunches in a way that lets you know he finds the comparison of him and Steven to the Gus and Friend infinitely irritating.
Once it would have confirmed for you that he only put up with you for Steven’s benefit.
Now, it makes you smile. It makes you want to poke him a little bit more.
Marc turns his head to meet your eyes, his skin cast a strange blue from the light of the tank. You smile at him and Marc frowns back. “Steven only ever told me about one fish before Egypt. Then he comes back with you and a second fish, when Gus was alone before.”
“This isn’t even the same Gus.”
“And Steven is no longer the same Steven.” You both straighten before you slowly reach out to cup his jaw in your hand, press your thumb to the center of his chin. “Now there’s two of you and two fish. I think that makes you the nameless one. Since Gus was here before.”
Marc carefully presses one hand to your elbow and slowly drifts his warm palm up your arm. “I can’t believe you fell for a guy that talked about his pet fish to you.”
You scoff, “I found it endearing, Marc Spector. Better than only speaking to me when I was in distress.”
Marc makes an annoyed noise as you release his chin and grab your bag from the floor.
“Friend needs a real name.”
“So give him a name.”
“Will you help me think of one?”
“No,” he says.
You feign offense as Marc sprinkles fish food into the tank. “Fine, Steven will help me.”
Marc’s head tilts, “Steven says I’m being a right knob about this.” His imitation of the accent, as always, is horrendous.
“You kind of are,” you chirp.
“You’ve got the brains of the operation, baby.”
“Thinking of a fish name requires a high intelligence?” You shake your head and lean up to kiss the corner of Marc’s mouth. “Have a good day.”
Marc wraps an arm around your waist before you can pull away and tips his head down to press his forehead to yours. “I’ll walk you.”
“At least pretend to think of some names.”
“No.”
~
Marc is watching you make dinner from his place slouched in one of the dining chairs. A sense of peace is settled over him - the sounds and smells of cooking, your low voice, Steven’s quiet presence, you safe and at home, Seven safe and content - comfort him.
Normally he helped you cook but today he’d been relegated to the table, in your way more than he was helpful in his current state.
He was exhausted and bruises line his ribs, scraped knuckles still healing. He hasn’t admitted to you that he isn’t really sure where the injuries have come from.
But you look divine as you cook, your words flowing right over him, in one ear and out the other, soothing.
“Marc you aren’t listening to a thing she’s saying,” Steven reprimands. “Stop staring at her arse and listen to her.”
But you have a nice ass and Marc is tired.
“…Steven and I decided to name the other fish Guy so-,”
Marc sits up, “What? Guy? How is that any better than Friend?” Then he remembers that that fucking fish is supposed to be him. “Why does Steven’s fish get a real name and mine is a noun?”
“Gus is also a noun, Marc.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, vaguely irritated with you.
You’re trying and failing to hide a smile.
“You said you didn’t want nothin’ to do with naming the fish, mate,” Steven says cheekily from the mirror across the room.
“I - I, that doesn’t mean I wanted -,” Marc realizes he’s speaking out loud and that you’re laughing, turning to glance in the mirror.
“Oh, he’s regretting it so bad now. Not wanting to help me name the fish.”
Steven looks like he always does when you seem to be able to directly address him in the mirror, soft eyes and loose shoulders, gentle smile and hands cupped over his heart. “Yes, love, he bloody well is.”
Marc rolls his eyes, “Fine. I want in now.”
“Sorry, we can’t rename him,” you say, plating the food carefully. “Friend was a placeholder name, now he has his proper name we can’t very well change it again. Besides don’t you think Gus and Guy is kind of cute?”
You turn and move accross the room to set a plate of food in front of Marc.
Before you can move away again, Marc hooks an arm round your waist and drags you into his lap. “It’s fucking stupid, actually. We’re changing it.”
With a laugh that makes your eyes crinkle up, Marc’s heart stuttering as he watches you, you pat his shoulder and say, “No, we aren’t. I think it fits.”
“It’s not a real name.”
“Sure it is. There are plenty of real people named Guy. Besides, between the two of you, who has a name that sounds not real? Marc Spector or Steven Grant?”
Steven is laughing so hard in Marc’s ear that he wants to punch the fucking mirror just to get him to stop.
“Steven laughing at you?”
“Yeah,” he snaps. “Change it.”
You just smile wider, and he feels like his heart may actually stop. “To what?”
Marc’s mind immediately goes blank. “I don’t - I need time to think -,”
“But you had so much time to be thinking about it. You didn’t want to help, remember?” You give his shoulder a sympathetic pat, “Me and Steven have been thinking about it for days.”
“Baby,” Marc pleads, hands going to your hips as you trace a finger down the line of his nose. “I would do anything for you, help you with anything -,”
“Besides help her with bloody fish names,” Steven says, still laughing.
At the same time you say, “Except fish names, yeah?”
“Shut up, both of you,” Marc growls but you just giggle again and kiss his chin before standing up and moving away.
You grab your own plate and come back to the table, sitting across from Marc. “You’re pouting, Marc.”
“I have a fucking fish alter named Guy, yeah I’m pouting a little bit sweetheart,” he says bitterly.
You reach over to take his hand. “You can name the next fish,” you say seriously. The smile that you’re trying to repress for his sake makes the center of his chest ache.
His shoulders relax as your thumb strokes circles into the back of his hand.
“Oy, and I’m the soft one?” Steven says, “Marc, you’re so lovesick for her.”
Marc clenches his jaw and glares at Steven.
“Marc,” you say, tracing your fingers over his palm when he purposefully turns his hand and lets it fall open. The sensation of you gingerly tracing the lines in his hand, to brush along his wrist and over his forearm, sends little bolts of warmth racing though him. “If it really upsets you, we can find a name that all three of us like for him.” You trail your nails over the vein in his arm, following it to the crook of his elbow, your eyes wide and warm when he meets your gaze.
And Marc is so aware, so so so aware that he’s being manipulated.
And he doesn’t give a fuck.
He’d do anything you ask, do anything to have you keep looking at him like that, to keep touching him.
“No,” he says, reaching out to knock a curled finger gently under your chin, tilting your head up briefly so he can look directly into your eyes. “It’s fine.”
You smile, glancing sidelong at the mirror where a Steven you can’t see is smiling in triumph too. “You sure?”
“Sure,” he picks up his fork, leaving his other hand where it rests on the table, because you are still caressing his skin so kindly. “We should get a third fish. For you.”
“What would you name my fish?”
“Dancer.”
And Marc really believes it’s a good name for all of six seconds before you and Steven are chortling again.
“Like the reindeer?” You ask.
“Like the bloody reindeer, Marc?”
Marc tugs his hand back from you and doesn’t say anything, sullenly quiet as the two of you laugh at him, but he feels a smile threatening him. Marc feels…good. He feels at peace. At home.
You take his hand again, giggling as you ask for forgiveness for laughing. Marc rolls his eyes as you finally settle down and begin to eat, fingers tangled with his.
Marc watches you, just because he can, because he no longer feels the need to hide the fact that he wanted to.
“I’m okay without a fish of my own. It’s good that Gus and Guy are friends. Maybe one day we’ll add another.”