This, no matter how ugly it was sometimes here on the Barge, was what Mason had hoped for with Marcus. Tenderness. Time. Hope and life and just a fucking chance. Raylan got to have that. That future that Mason had murdered because he didn't have a choice.
He almost felt a little guilty, underneath all of the guilt of having been the one to put James in this position in the first place, for getting to take James home. He was about to open his mouth to reply when James continues and the words hit him like a mac truck.
Raylan's thumb stops stroking and they dig into James where he's held a little. If only that were true. He could still feel the kickback of the gun in his hand, could hear the way James's head exploded with a cloud of spores to match-
"Let's get you sittin' up, huh? Give you a second to be used to bein' upright while I let them know I'm takin' you so they don't worry." Moving was the only option right now. He shifts a little, slowly sliding himself back up to a standing position, and gently urging James up. "C'mon darlin'."
The tension to follow and the crinkle in Raylan's expression, whether he meant to show it or not, was all the answer he needed to know something bad happened and his Husband was desperately trying to hide how much it hurt him. He'll tuck it away for now, letting the other help guide him slowly and carefully up into a seated position. The world spins, his stomach twists in knots, and he has to sit back for a moment with his head tilted back and eyes closed. It feels like he's dizzy and drunk, but without the fun parts. All the while his head is still screaming.
Once it passes to a manageable throb he'll slide his feet to the floor and hang his head a little low with the bucket near until Raylan returns from talking to whoever was on duty.
It didn't take him long at all and after a few minutes, he was stepping back into view, holding out his arm in the offer of helping James manage his weight.
"We're all clear. Let's go home, huh?" Regardless of if James lets him help with his weight or not, Raylan moves them slowly towards the exit, being mindful of just how fucking hellish death tolls were.
"How much do you remember?" By his previous question, Raylan had to guess that he didn't remember the end at all. But what about any part of the beginnings?
James is too tired, too much in pain, and blinded by the headache to bother trying to act tough and strong, and independent. He'll take that offered hand to his feet and the assistance of a strong, steady arm and body to help guide him out of the infirmary and towards home. He's leaning on his Husband, so much of his body is shooting fire in places where it was recently recovered from the fungus growths. It's reminiscent of when he returned from the Galley after his torso was made into swiss cheese. What the hell happened to him??
"Nothing." He croaks, "I don't remember anything."
The only time Raylan ever used the elevator now, was when someone was dying or recovering, but it did make navigating the levels easier. He pushes the button, other hand wrapped firmly around James's waist. It was a balancing act between them, since James had a good 30 pounds of pure muscle over Raylan on a bad day, but they were managing.
He clucks softly. Some part of him had hoped James would hold onto what Mason and Marcus were. Some part of him was glad he didn't - too many questions about what came of it all for any real good.
"Probably for the better. It was.. Hellish. Just know I'm gonna be pissed at mushrooms for at least three months. All that matters is that we're back from it now. Puttin' in a firm rule now that neither of us are allowed to die for at least a month."
The door opened and Raylan limped them inside, hitting the level 8 button as he helps James lean his weight against the wall.
Honestly, he was fully taking advantage of the comfort of having his Husband pressed, by his side, a strong, sturdy pillar of support he desperately needed at the moment. Even if he didn't know how, or why, and in some way, that blank almost made it worse. He would rather focus on the closeness and familiarity, closing his eyes and just breathing in the scent of his lover or basking in his warmth when he felt cold and feverish. He was a little heavy and weak, but he managed to walk without stumbling, most of which was thanks to Raylan.
As for Marcus and Mason, they had what the pair had once shared before the virus tore them apart. He honestly is better off without the shadow of guilt and anguish the pair suffered in that alternate reality. He was already worried enough over failing Raylan somehow and the threat of something tearing them apart they have no control over without the looming shadow of another reality.
Moreover, he really didn't need the memory of cannibalizing people, among all the terrible things Marcus experienced, suffered, or did. Flint had been fighting so hard to remove himself from the monster he created, he didn't need to have another memory of being a literal monster to contend with. So in the end it was more of a mercy he forgot, even if he was hating being left in the dark.
"Mushrooms?" He murmurs, a little confused, a little curious, but mostly trying to understand. He's grateful for the elevator in this instance, and as they come to lean against the wall, he'll curl in a little closer to rest on his Husband, head on his shoulder, half cuddled up to him in lieu of being a little boneless for a second, rather than trying to keep himself upright.
"Mmn," Comes out in a sleepy half-hum half-grunt of approval at the idea that they aren't allowed to die for a month.
"Don't worry about it," he murmurs back, more than happy to envelop and hold up James as the elevator moves. He was trying to put everything out of his mind, but seeing James's face invoked the same images that had lived behind his eyelids ever time he closed his eyes.
"Two is good. We can renegotiate once we hit that mark, hmm?"
The elevator doors dinged and Raylan helped them into and down the hall. Their room wasn't but four or so doors down and the door was opened easily, Pumpkin greeting them with a meow from the couch he and his cleaning wasn't moving from.
"Into the bedroom, alright? Let's get you set up."
The Elevator was both a blessing and a curse, as it moved it was okay, but the jerking stop made his stomach jump and his head woozy. He'll straighten up and move along, body still aching and limbs lancing with fire in certain places as he walks. He's happy their door isn't far and even more glad when they're through the threshold proper.
He nods and moves easily to the bedroom and when he's finally settled down onto the soft mattress there is a sigh of relief. He's barefoot, at least, body fully recovered except for the phantom pains and death toll. His clothes are his own, not Marcus' so they're clean and comfortable. Other than the lingering pain of his death, and Raylan's memories, anything left of Marcus is gone. James is alive, fully himself as if nothing happened and in a few days he'll be healthy again.
He shifts to sit back against the headboard, stretching his legs out. One hand lingers on his Husband, drifting fingers down to grab his hand and squeeze, not yet ready to be apart from him.
"I'd kiss you if my mouth didn't taste awful." He attempts a small crooked smile behind tired eyes. In the dim of their bedroom, he doesn't have to squint so hard and he can see his Husband more clearly.
"You can tell me anything you know, I want to know. I want to be able to comfort you too."
Once James was comfortable and laid down, Raylan settled down to sit next to him, clasping their hands together, palm to palm and squeezing back. He had no where to be and no where he'd rather be, pain and all. Because James was still here, still whole, still breathing.
He smiles softly at the first, but it fades a little at the second. A beat passes and he bends, free hand coming up to gently grab James's chin to help guide their lips together. It's a chaste kiss, but firm in it's gentle way.
"I don't care what your mouth tastes like," he mutters quietly. "And I know-" he continues as he pulls back, thumb brushing back and forth. "But you been up for all of twenty minutes and like I said, all that matters is you bein' back and here. That's all the comfort I need. Just let me fuss over you for a few days," he asks, free hand reaching up to brush back some of his hair. "That'll be plenty fine."
"Mmn," He hums into the chaste kiss as if it were still the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. As for the rest, he leans more into the gentle, soothing touches and curls in just a little more to snuggle with his Husband.
"I think I'd like that." He murmurs, resting his head on Raylan's shoulder, half tucked under his chin.
"As my Husband, you're allowed to fuss over me any time doesn't have to be because of a Deathtoll. I like it when you are extra sweet to me. Only you're allowed these soft things."
Shifting so that he was laying down with James, Raylan hums softly as he tucks in under chin, off hand wrapping around James's waist a little tighter.
"I know, darlin'. And I will. As soon as we stop dyin' left and right. An' for now, we'll both get to indulge in it, hmm?" His hands squeeze again.
"'Sides, I need this as much as you do. After watchin' you die in Lestat's room.. Ain't got enough of holdin' you yet. Hell, we might never leave, how's that sound."
As Raylan settles in closer and squeezes him tight, he'll wrap himself around his Husband, attached at his side like a barnacle. He buries his face in the crook of his neck, surrounded by the scent and warmth, feeling and listening to his heartbeat. He nods softly in agreement with the rest, eyes closed against his lover's skin, shielding him against the world beyond their bedroom. His head was still throbbing but he could focus through the pain on Raylan, how he breathes, the soft timber of his voice vibrating against his forehead, the feel of their fingers tangled together.
"Good, I'm not about to let you go any time soon." Lestat was likely a conversation they should've had weeks ago, but both of them had needed enough time to sit with it.
James will likely need to let Raylan go so he can get up to get him some painkillers for the headache and fire in his skin, or water to wet his tongue and throat. He might not be able to stomach much beyond soup, toast or jello for awhile.
Raylan breathes in the smell of sweat and musk and the lingering antiseptic and sighs the breath out, sinking into it all. He needed this. The quiet, the privacy, the ability to just soak up the solid presence of James being against him and breathing.
He needed to apologize. But he wasn't inconsiderate to his husband's condition; it could wait.
James shakes his head gently, "Just you, right here, just as you are. That's all I need."
He sounds a little sleepy, or perhaps it is some of the migraine. He could use pills to help but he's too stubborn to ask for them. That and it feels like he finally got to a perfect level of comfortably wrapped in Raylan to want to bother him to move.
"Are there any stories you feel up for telling me?" He might doze off part way through but he's willing to listen to whatever Raylan feels like telling him.
"I ever tell you about what a Southern night sounds likes? Late summer, sticky air full of crickets and cicadas?"
His fingers find a home in James's hair, carding softly through it. Raylan was perfectly fine with being trapped by James's weight; he'd sit right here for a handful of hours at the very least if it gave his husband some comfort.
"Nothin' quiet about the nighttime, the deep sound of the call of the midnight coal train under the sound of the wind in the trees, makin' it all sound like summer in a field of long grass and lightin' bugs.."
James softly hums out a sleepy sound to indicate that he doesn't think Raylan's described a southern night to him before. With his eyes closed, even with his brain heavy and hazy with a headache, he's able to listen intently to the soothing sound of Raylan's voice and paint the perfect picture in his head. He gives another low hum at the gentle hand through his hair, tilting his head ever-so-slightly into it, like a cat wanting to be pet. Slowly but surely it lulls him into a light comfortable trance.
The more James relaxed and drifted off, the heavier he got, helping guide Raylan in the soft telling of honeysuckle on the breeze. His fingers kept their steady stroke through James's hair as he continued on about the smell of cold on the air in the winters or the way that it all came alive and vibrant under the rain.
When he was sure James was well under, he stopped talking, hand moving only to drag the cover over both of them and laying over James's extended arm and shoulder. He'd give James as many hours as he could manage before begrudgingly working his way oh so slowly out from under his husband, so he could tuck James in the rest of the way. Raylan had to piss like a race horse and after emptying his bladder and getting some whiskey to refill it, he came back into the bedroom with a chair and sat by the 'windows' to watch the pirate sleep.
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He almost felt a little guilty, underneath all of the guilt of having been the one to put James in this position in the first place, for getting to take James home. He was about to open his mouth to reply when James continues and the words hit him like a mac truck.
Raylan's thumb stops stroking and they dig into James where he's held a little. If only that were true. He could still feel the kickback of the gun in his hand, could hear the way James's head exploded with a cloud of spores to match-
"Let's get you sittin' up, huh? Give you a second to be used to bein' upright while I let them know I'm takin' you so they don't worry." Moving was the only option right now. He shifts a little, slowly sliding himself back up to a standing position, and gently urging James up. "C'mon darlin'."
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Once it passes to a manageable throb he'll slide his feet to the floor and hang his head a little low with the bucket near until Raylan returns from talking to whoever was on duty.
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"We're all clear. Let's go home, huh?" Regardless of if James lets him help with his weight or not, Raylan moves them slowly towards the exit, being mindful of just how fucking hellish death tolls were.
"How much do you remember?" By his previous question, Raylan had to guess that he didn't remember the end at all. But what about any part of the beginnings?
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"Nothing." He croaks, "I don't remember anything."
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He clucks softly. Some part of him had hoped James would hold onto what Mason and Marcus were. Some part of him was glad he didn't - too many questions about what came of it all for any real good.
"Probably for the better. It was.. Hellish. Just know I'm gonna be pissed at mushrooms for at least three months. All that matters is that we're back from it now. Puttin' in a firm rule now that neither of us are allowed to die for at least a month."
The door opened and Raylan limped them inside, hitting the level 8 button as he helps James lean his weight against the wall.
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As for Marcus and Mason, they had what the pair had once shared before the virus tore them apart. He honestly is better off without the shadow of guilt and anguish the pair suffered in that alternate reality. He was already worried enough over failing Raylan somehow and the threat of something tearing them apart they have no control over without the looming shadow of another reality.
Moreover, he really didn't need the memory of cannibalizing people, among all the terrible things Marcus experienced, suffered, or did. Flint had been fighting so hard to remove himself from the monster he created, he didn't need to have another memory of being a literal monster to contend with. So in the end it was more of a mercy he forgot, even if he was hating being left in the dark.
"Mushrooms?" He murmurs, a little confused, a little curious, but mostly trying to understand. He's grateful for the elevator in this instance, and as they come to lean against the wall, he'll curl in a little closer to rest on his Husband, head on his shoulder, half cuddled up to him in lieu of being a little boneless for a second, rather than trying to keep himself upright.
"Mmn," Comes out in a sleepy half-hum half-grunt of approval at the idea that they aren't allowed to die for a month.
"Make it two." He mumbles.
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"Two is good. We can renegotiate once we hit that mark, hmm?"
The elevator doors dinged and Raylan helped them into and down the hall. Their room wasn't but four or so doors down and the door was opened easily, Pumpkin greeting them with a meow from the couch he and his cleaning wasn't moving from.
"Into the bedroom, alright? Let's get you set up."
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He nods and moves easily to the bedroom and when he's finally settled down onto the soft mattress there is a sigh of relief. He's barefoot, at least, body fully recovered except for the phantom pains and death toll. His clothes are his own, not Marcus' so they're clean and comfortable. Other than the lingering pain of his death, and Raylan's memories, anything left of Marcus is gone. James is alive, fully himself as if nothing happened and in a few days he'll be healthy again.
He shifts to sit back against the headboard, stretching his legs out. One hand lingers on his Husband, drifting fingers down to grab his hand and squeeze, not yet ready to be apart from him.
"I'd kiss you if my mouth didn't taste awful." He attempts a small crooked smile behind tired eyes. In the dim of their bedroom, he doesn't have to squint so hard and he can see his Husband more clearly.
"You can tell me anything you know, I want to know. I want to be able to comfort you too."
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He smiles softly at the first, but it fades a little at the second. A beat passes and he bends, free hand coming up to gently grab James's chin to help guide their lips together. It's a chaste kiss, but firm in it's gentle way.
"I don't care what your mouth tastes like," he mutters quietly. "And I know-" he continues as he pulls back, thumb brushing back and forth. "But you been up for all of twenty minutes and like I said, all that matters is you bein' back and here. That's all the comfort I need. Just let me fuss over you for a few days," he asks, free hand reaching up to brush back some of his hair. "That'll be plenty fine."
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"I think I'd like that." He murmurs, resting his head on Raylan's shoulder, half tucked under his chin.
"As my Husband, you're allowed to fuss over me any time doesn't have to be because of a Deathtoll. I like it when you are extra sweet to me. Only you're allowed these soft things."
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"I know, darlin'. And I will. As soon as we stop dyin' left and right. An' for now, we'll both get to indulge in it, hmm?" His hands squeeze again.
"'Sides, I need this as much as you do. After watchin' you die in Lestat's room.. Ain't got enough of holdin' you yet. Hell, we might never leave, how's that sound."
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"Good, I'm not about to let you go any time soon." Lestat was likely a conversation they should've had weeks ago, but both of them had needed enough time to sit with it.
James will likely need to let Raylan go so he can get up to get him some painkillers for the headache and fire in his skin, or water to wet his tongue and throat. He might not be able to stomach much beyond soup, toast or jello for awhile.
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He needed to apologize. But he wasn't inconsiderate to his husband's condition; it could wait.
"Can I get ya anythin? Make ya more comfortable?"
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He sounds a little sleepy, or perhaps it is some of the migraine. He could use pills to help but he's too stubborn to ask for them. That and it feels like he finally got to a perfect level of comfortably wrapped in Raylan to want to bother him to move.
"Are there any stories you feel up for telling me?" He might doze off part way through but he's willing to listen to whatever Raylan feels like telling him.
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His fingers find a home in James's hair, carding softly through it. Raylan was perfectly fine with being trapped by James's weight; he'd sit right here for a handful of hours at the very least if it gave his husband some comfort.
"Nothin' quiet about the nighttime, the deep sound of the call of the midnight coal train under the sound of the wind in the trees, makin' it all sound like summer in a field of long grass and lightin' bugs.."
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When he was sure James was well under, he stopped talking, hand moving only to drag the cover over both of them and laying over James's extended arm and shoulder. He'd give James as many hours as he could manage before begrudgingly working his way oh so slowly out from under his husband, so he could tuck James in the rest of the way. Raylan had to piss like a race horse and after emptying his bladder and getting some whiskey to refill it, he came back into the bedroom with a chair and sat by the 'windows' to watch the pirate sleep.