Post-canon PSL

[buenpastor]

[ it's been over a year since the rances, months now since the vatican officially sanctioned tomas as an exorcist, twelve days since they— because it's they, even if marcus isn't officially working for the church. twelve days since bennett sent them to vienna, to see to a young man named jakob who'd been hearing voices.

marcus had warned tomas about the dangers of complacency, and tomas understood why now; they'd done two exorcisms since casey, and they'd both been simple in comparison. the demons hadn't taken tomas seriously.

this recent one had. there's a learning curve to becoming a good exorcist, or so marcus kept saying, and he'd let tomas fight the demon up until it became a danger to the host, then he'd stepped in.

god likes it better when they work together; the words flow more easily, their voices join in as one. tomas knows he can be strong on his own. with marcus he feels unbeatable.

they have a room in jakob's house, it's a single bed and a bathroom that have seen very little use since their arrival. when jakob's eyes clear up and his voice is his own again, after niceties are exchanged; thank yous, a doctor is called, the family reassured. tomas and marcus go to that little room and close the door behind them.

once they call bennett he'll have them on a plane outside the country within hours, but it's late and they can afford a few hours to take a breather. ]

Comments

[buenpastor]

Does that mean you're not going to finish it... ?

[ he's so happy, how could you be angry at him? ]

[missio]

[ he briefly lowers the milk carton ]

Tomas. That monstrosity is basically inedible to everyone who lives above a certain latitude on this planet.

[buenpastor]

Your loss.

[ HE'S GONNA EAT IT OK ]

[missio]

[ he finally sets the carton down and snuffles >:( muttering ]

Tosser. You been planning that all night?

[buenpastor]

Of course not. I asked you to choose what you wanted.

[ he has found the remaining burrito and is eating it, happily. ]

[missio]

Oh, beg pardon. I didn’t realize I ordered my own bloody face burned off.

[ watches him eat the burrito, distinctly unamused. but also a little bit amused, maybe. why are you like this, who made you this way ]

[buenpastor]

[ he gets a glass of water but doesn't seem particularly bothered. ]

I told you where the milk was.

[missio]

In the fridge? Yeah, thanks. Don’t think I would’ve figured that one out myself.

[ leans against the counter, folding his arms ]

[buenpastor]

I told you randomly, for no reason. It's not my fault you can't take a hint.

[missio]

Well, I hadn’t realized I’d be spending my free time in this frozen wasteland with a deliberate saboteur.

[ marcus is not someone who Has Fun or Enjoys Jokes often, for many reasons, so as cute as tomas is, which is also a vexing thing to still recognize at the moment, he’s pulling a face and pushing away from the counter. ]

I’m going back to bed.

[buenpastor]

[ tomas is still very amused, finishing up. ]

We're even.

[ apparently all he needed to get over marcus lying to him was making him suffer through spicy food. ]

[missio]

[ FLIPPING TOMAS THE BIRD AGAIN OVER HIS SHOULDER before going into the bedroom to flop down again. marcus keane, an adult ]

[buenpastor]

[ tomas would be more upset if he thought this would last. but he's absurdly confident it won't.

he cleans up and goes back to the bedroom to pick up whatever bags and leftovers he left there. ]

[missio]

[ he’s just on top of the sheets again, face up, one hand folded behind his head. he watches dispassionately as tomas cleans up the rest of the delivered food.

he should probably shower, eventually--it feels like he left italy forever ago--but it’s still absurdly early. ]

[buenpastor]

You still owe me a talk.

[ he doesn't have any intention of pushing yet, he's just reminding marcus he hasn't forgotten. ]

Also, I cleared a couple of drawers for you, if you feel like unpacking.

[missio]

Suppose so.

[ he still doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to discuss it further, though. marcus is forthcoming with tomas about most matters, but the last two weeks are like the bruises in his side--still too fresh for him to think about them clearly. ]

Later. [ on both counts. ]

[buenpastor]

I'm taking a shower. [ he pauses deliberately, glances back at the bed. ] Do you wanna join me?

[ there's no attempt at all at seduction in the offer. it's just casual, as if he's offering to save water. ]

[missio]

[ at that marcus looks back at him, the frown between his eyebrows deepening as if he has to assess whether that’s a good idea. it’s not that tomas hasn’t seen him in partial or even full undress before, but--it’s been a slow crawl towards intimacy; excluding the time they spent apart, they’ve really only been at this for a week, and it wouldn’t do to let tomas bite off more than he can chew in one morning. ]

Nah. Take your time, I’m still knackered.

[buenpastor]

Okay.

[ he's a little confused, almost offended. but he shrugs and disappears into the bathroom, in the end he's not insecure enough to take it as a personal slight, and he figures they'll get there eventually. ]

[missio]

[ after the bathroom door shuts marcus lingers for awhile in the warmth of the mattress. then he pushes off of the bed and heads back to the living room to collect his bag. when he returns to the bedroom it doesn’t take long to find the drawer that’s been emptied for him, bigger than marcus actually needs with his terribly few sets of clothes. it doesn’t take long for him to empty his belongings into the drawer as a result. his few shirts look exceptionally ordinary against the wood bottom of the dresser; he notes, with dismay but without surprise, that a pair of his socks has a hole in the middle.

there was a time when he had official clerical garments with him, wherever he went; his cassock, his stole, all of it had seen four or five continents and terrors by the dozen. that was two years ago. now there’s just this, ordinary clothes in someone else’s ordinary apartment. and the people left on the planet who call him father marcus only do so out of habit.

he takes a second to mull over the unreality of it all, the future that grows increasingly unlike his past by the minute. without thinking he’s unwinding the wrappings on his forearms, at first to examine the healing catlike scratches, and then he’s looking up over at the light beneath the bathroom door.

he steps over to push open the bathroom door while the shower is still running, tossing the loose bandages in the trash. (there are other loose bandages in there, from yesterday, browned slightly from old blood.) ]

Hey. I unpacked.

[buenpastor]

[ tomas shuts the water before peeking out from behind the curtain. it's a small bathroom, not much space beyond the necessities, shower stall, toilet, trash can, a small cabinet on the wall. ]

Are you still cranky?

[ there's still shampoo in his hair, he just turned the water off to talk to him. ]

[missio]

[ he’s pulling the gauze off his chest as well, two days old as it is, and tossing it in the trash. ]

Cranky. Is that what I am?

[ it’s actually more like a state of existence for marcus tbh ]

[buenpastor]

Well ye— [ is he stepping out of the shower still half soaped up to take a better look at that? Yes, absolutely ]

Did you even get the first-aid kit?

[missio]

[ marcus shifts to take him by the elbows before he can get too close. the chest injury seems to be home to those stitches he mentioned yesterday, but it’s not in bad shape. ]

You’re dripping. [ his voice is gentle, maybe a touch amused now. ]

[buenpastor]

Right, yes. [ he grabs a towel and dries himself off very hurriedly, keeping his eyes on marcus. ] You couldn't have waited five minutes?