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wardenparker · 1 year

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The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - Epilogue

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Marcus unexpectedly runs into his ex-wife he is plunged into a world of complications where rekindled attraction and deep-seated insecurities reign. Unfortunately for him, it is also a world where his ex-wife is not the only ‘ex’ around, as a new case crosses his desk that will require all hands on deck. ✨💖Inspired by and based upon absurdthirst’s Tequila. 💖✨

Rating: General audiences for pure fluff, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.** Pure fluff with just a passing mention of pregnancy kink. It *is* Marcus, after all. Pregnant reader with mentioned cravings. Summary: Glimpsing a few years into the future, the life of the renewed Pike family is rocked by a new adventures at every turn. Notes: This little story has brought us so much joy, and hopefully it has brought you some as well, dear readers 🧡🧡 Thank you for coming with us, and check out the writing schedule that went up a little while ago to see what’s coming next!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

French court has been distinctly different from the one time you ever served on jury duty in a US court, and if you weren't uncomfortable from the hard benches, needing to pee constantly, and the very tiny foot currently lodged in your ribs, you might be more inclined to pay attention to the differences to chat to Angie about it when you get back the DC again.

You and Marcus have been giving witness testimony for over a week in Henri Aubel's criminal trial. It's been a long time coming, since you went undercover for that auction two years ago, but justice apparently takes time. This time you're staying in a moderately priced hotel in Montmartre and enjoying your down time at a more leisurely pace, while Marcus fusses over every step you take to make sure that you and his little boy always have everything you need. He's sitting beside you holding your hand as you listen to the lawyers give their final statements, smoothing his thumb over your hand and wishing just as hard as you are that this afternoon could be over so that you can go back to the hotel and order some room service to just have a little quiet time to yourself.

“Are you doing okay, sweetheart?” Marcus notices you squirming slightly, knowing the baby is more active right now. He doesn’t seem to like you sitting for too long before he starts beating you up from the inside.

“He’s bored,” you whisper back, nodding that yes, you’re okay, it’s just the baby moving around. Gently, you move his hand to the side of your belly so he can feel where his son’s other foot is pushing insistently. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Just like every time he feels his son kick in your stomach, Marcus softens. His eyes turning warmer and even more loving as his hand brushes over your bumping flesh. It feels like he’s trying to play soccer or have a party. “Calm down buddy and I’ll take you and mama out for ice cream after this.” He promises softly.

To your absolute lack of surprise, that seems to soothe the baby more than anything, and you always tease that he’s going to own an ice cream shop one day due to the way it has been your number one, never ending craving for the last seven months. Of course the baby is just responding to Marcus’s soothing voice, but you like to imagine that childhood years full of ice cream truck adventures and inventing new flavours at home are in store for all of you. “Works every time,” you hum under your breath, trying not to grin in the middle of the court room.

“Mhmmm.” He smirks slightly, curling around you. “I know what my wife and son want.” He’s been so proud of where you are during this trip to France. Enjoying when Aubel’s lawyer had tried to discredit you by calling you ‘Madame’ Pike to insinuate that you held a personal grudge over his client. The entire courtroom had tittered when you had very sternly corrected him with ‘Doctor Pike’ and an introduction into your qualifications to speak on this case beyond your own undercover involvement. Marcus had been a peacock during the next break, so proud of you.

When the courtroom is dismissed nearly an hour later, you stand to stretch your legs and give Marcus an apologetic pout. Before you run off to find ice cream, you need to use the bathroom. Again. “I’ll be right back, my love.”

Marcus stands and moves over towards the agents who were crowded around the prosecutor. "We are going to slip away." Marcus tells Ducasse, aware that you and he could be called back for more questions, but it wouldn't be today. He holds his hand out to the agent. "Baby needs a walk and some ice cream."

“We will see you again Monday morning.” Ducasse gratefully shakes Marcus’s hand and glances behind him, smiling knowingly when you’ve already disappeared. His wife was the same way during all three of her pregnancies. “You have plans for the weekend?”

"I think we are going to do whatever my wife wants." Marcus grins. "This is sort of being used as our 'baby moon' since in a few weeks she won't be able to fly anymore."

“We would love to have you over once more before you leave.” Ducasse’s wife had been very fond of you when you visited last time, and he and Marcus have always gotten along well. The four of you had played cards for hours after their boys went to bed. “Chloe has asked if I would invite you, so please. Anytime.”

He nods. “I’ll talk to her and let you know.” He promises, knowing that you would say yes. Either tonight or Sunday night. “Hopefully you have a good rest of the day.”

“We are near the end.” He nods, shaking Marcus’s hand once more. “It will be good to put this behind us. Although I hope it will not keep you from coming to Paris again?”

"No, never." Marcus chuckles at the mere thought of never coming back. "My wife honestly wishes we could move to Paris. If only the FBI operated outside the US beyond special cases." He muses. "She would have our house packed up tomorrow."

He can see it, knowing how you love France, and chuckles softly at the image. “La Louvre would be lucky to have her.”

“What about the Louvre?” You sneak up behind Marcus, slipping your arm into his as he stands with René. That bathroom trip was very necessary, but you feel rejuvenated.

“How much you would be an asset to work there.” Marcus answers easily, shifting his shoulder so he can throw his arm around you. “And if INTERPOL would hire me, you would be packing us up to move to Paris in a heartbeat.

“It would certainly be a conversation to have.” Just because you would love it doesn’t mean Marcus would, and your lines of communication have smoothed out considerably over the years. “I wouldn’t mind, but our families might riot if we cross an ocean with this little boy being so new in everybody’s lives.”

The Frenchman laughs and nods. “I can imagine. It is your first. So it is especially sweet.” Marcus nods and Ducasse steps back. “Enjoy your afternoon, I am getting a coffee before we have to go back in.”

“Ready for ice cream?” It’s summer in Paris, so when you step outside the streets are packed with locals and endless amounts of tourists alike.

“Of course I am.” Indulgently smiling, he casually leads you away from the government building. While he wasn’t as confident in his ability to move around the city like you, he was becoming more acclimated. “You know, that could be something we look at down the road.” He offers, slipping his hand into yours. “Moving here.”

“Would you really want to leave the US?” He’s happy here, you know. He likes Paris and his French has improved measurably with every trip. But you’ve never talked about living here - it’s just your favorite vacation spot. “We’ve never discussed it, so I’m honestly asking.”

“It could be interesting.” Marcus admits, shrugging slightly. “Obviously not something we do now, but it could be something to talk about if the right opportunity came along.”

“We definitely wouldn’t consider it without the right work.” It does make you smile, though, and you lean into his side as you stroll down the sidewalk together. He wouldn’t continue to pose the question if it wasn’t something he was considering. “Is it…maybe worth enough thought that we give an extra thought to how the babies’ names would sound with a French accent?”

Marcus laughs and he knows that you are intrigued by the idea. “We can do that.” He promises. “Although let’s not name the baby Henri.” He teases with a wink.

“Oh god no.” You cringe at the very idea. “I’m not saying give them French names. I’m just saying…if it’s difficult to pronounce or unattractive with a French accent…maybe it gets bumped a little further down on the list?” Considering you haven’t had any luck whatsoever in narrowing down your son’s name, it might actually be helpful. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, so that you don’t get too excited.

“I can agree with that.” In a perfect world, he would try to find a way to move over here now, but his father’s health is failing and he wants to be stateside for the time being. “I still like Archer.”

“And I still say that Archer Pike sounds like a position on a medieval battlefield.” It’s never escalated to so much as a disagreement in your entire pregnancy, but your and Marcus’s very different taste in baby names has made for some interesting conversations. “This week I think I like Jonas or Elias best.”

“Jonas.” Marcus winces. “That sounds like our son is going to be in a boy band.”

“Alright, maybe not Jonas.” Both of you laugh as you turn down the bustling street. “Adrian is good. Or Elliott.” Trying to stay away from what you’ve termed the ‘normal’ names like Charles, Daniel, William, Thomas, Alexander, Jonathan, or anything like that has made naming more of a conversation. And more of a challenge. But that’s the good kind of challenge.

“Maxime?” Marcus suggests. “We can call him Max? Max Pike.” He rolls the name around and looks over at you to see what you think.

“Is that a French name I hear from you?” Pretending to be shocked, you gasp audibly and clasp one hand to your chest in mock shock. But something in the back of your mind makes you pause, and your laughter turns to a soft sigh just a moment later. “You know what Maxime sounds good with?” You tilt your head back to look at him and bite your lip, unsure how he’ll feel about the suggestion. “Theodore.”

“Really?” Marcus swallows, aware that his hand tightens around yours. He’s aware that his father doesn’t have many more years left and he hates that he won’t see his grandchild grow up so this is something to honor the man who had taught Marcus how to be a man. “I— baby, I would love that.” He had been careful not to voice that before because he doesn’t want you to agree for him alone.

“Do you like the names together?” He looks like he’s going to cry, which wouldn’t be a surprise from Marcus. As his father’s health declines, he’s been more open with how the impending loss is affecting him. “Theodore is a great name, even if you don’t like Maxime with it. Maybe…” you hold his hand tightly in support. “If you like it for a first name, we could call him Theo?” His father has always gone by Ted, and it’s a way to pay homage to the man without forcing an identity on your son or putting pressure on him the way family names so often can.

“I think –” Marcus exhales roughly and blinks, trying to get ahold of his emotions. “If you like it, I think that we have found our son’s name.”

“Then I think we have it.” After so much debating and searching and consideration, to actually have agreed on a name makes your heart feel like it’s grown three sizes all at once. “Because I actually love it.”

“I love it too.” Marcus smiles dreaming, imagining calling to his son when he comes home from work. “It’s fitting.”

“We can spend the next two months working on a middle name.” The look of immense joy on his face is all you need to see to be sure that you made the right decision. “We should call your parents this weekend to let them know that we finally decided on the first name.”

“Why don’t we do that in person?” Marcus suggests, knowing how proud his father might be to learn that his grandson is named after him. “Maybe have a little onesie made? And a shirt for him?”

“We can do that.” The wheels in your mind are already spinning about how to get it done before you have to stop flying. “What if we order them tonight and have them shipped to your parents, and we can change our flight when we’re done here to be to Florida instead of DC? Take a couple of extra days to see your folks before we go home?”

“Yeah?” He lights up at the idea and nods. “The case should be done by the time the shirts get there and I can tell mom not to open the package.”

“It would be nice to tell them in person.” You agree, reaching up to touch his cheek as you both pause on the sidewalk outside the patisserie that you know makes the best ice cream in this part of the city.

“It would be.” Your mother has been a little better since the wedding last winter, and excited when you announced you were expecting. Marcus rubs the back of your hand. “Maybe we can invite your mom out? See the baby’s room?”

“We can have my folks come to us once I’m grounded.” That’s how you had been referring to it, at least a little bit. “My sister said she’d wait to bring her crew out to visit us until after the baby is born.” With your free hand, you caress the side of your belly and nearly tear up. “Until Theo is born.”

He will defer to you on this, nodding in agreement. “Whatever you want baby, I want this to be as easy as possible and a good experience for you.” He grins and presses his lips to your temple. “I kinda like you pregnant.”

“Oh yeah?” Although you raise your eyebrows at him, you’re not surprised by it. Marcus hasn’t exactly been subtle in the way he’s heaped affection and indulgence on you since the day you came home from the doctor with the news. “Thinking you might want the second pretty quickly, or maybe a third?”

“Doesn’t matter how many you have.” Marcus promises. “I do love you just like this.” His hand slides across your burgeoning belly. “But if you don’t want any more, I will be happy with you and Theo.”

“And Cat Benetar.” The highly opinionated Siamese kitten you had adopted after returning stateside from your first joint trip to Paris has turned into an even more opinionated grown up cat, who also happens to love her namesake’s music. “No, baby. The only reason Theo won’t be a big brother is if the doctor advises against it for something medical. I…actually kind of like being pregnant. Which is something I never thought I would say.”

He snorts and moves closer, pressing his lips to your jaw line. The past two years have been the best of his life and the idea of having even more happiness makes his heart soar. “You like being treated like a Princess.” He scoffs playfully. “Foot rubs every night. Ice cream whenever you want. Doting husband ready to make you cum whenever you need.”

“And in exchange I have said goodbye to my ankles, given up my entire body to the growth of a tiny human, and gladly sacrificed increasing amounts of my own independence for that same tiny human.” The first day you had had to have Marcus help you out of bed was a very rude awakening, but right now you just sigh in contentment at the feeling of his lips on your skin. “I think that’s a fair trade.”

“You will get your ankles back, I insist on at least one ‘me day’ for you a month, where I take care of the kids and you go pamper yourself, and your body is even sexier.” Marcus insists.

With your arms around his neck and his hands gently cradling your sides, the two of you are the perfect picture of a couple very much in love. These last seven months of being married again have been such a blessing and you wouldn’t trade them for the world. “I think you might have a little bit of a pregnancy kink, babe. Not that I’m complaining.”

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he finally shoots you a smirk. “Maybe a little bit of one, but you can’t blame me.” Marcus huffs. “The woman I love, carrying my baby that I planted inside her?” He groans quietly and knows you are aware of what does for him. “Good shit.”

“Suddenly feeling a little less like ice cream and a little more like you want to be back at the hotel?” You know you are, but that’s mostly a side effect of the way his voice has dipped down so low it sounds like it’s coming from his toes.

"I always want to be back at the hotel with you." Marcus chuckles. "But I promised our Theo ice cream and I'm not going to start breaking promises now." He hums playfully, leaning in and kissing your nose. "Besides." He moves his mouth over to your ear. "I can always eat your pussy while you eat your ice cream." He whispers softly, aware that it will make you drip with need.

“How do you expect me to act normal when you say things like that?” You pout at him fiercely, but only because you’re too big now to just climb him like a tree anywhere you want. “Inside. Right now. Before I decide to drag you into a cab and order ice cream from room service.”

His laugh trails behind you as you both enter the shop, groaning when the smells hit him. Nothing smells as good as fresh pastries and ice cream. "We can have it to go." He poses, his hand on your back sliding down to rest innocently on your ass.

"Yes. Yes we absolutely can." It's possible that Marcus has grown to love real Parisian patisseries as much as you do. There's nothing quite like it in the world. "Do you want to bring some things back to the room for our breakfast tomorrow since we're here?"

“Unless you want me to run back here while you are asleep?” Marcus offers, knowing how amazing everything is fresh. You have taken to lying in just a bit longer because of the baby.

"If you're willing, I'm never going to say no." Not that you would ever ask him to, but Marcus does like to make a fuss. And it's not just for you - he loves fresh bread and pastry with a fiery burning passion. "Pan au raisin right from the oven is almost as sexy as some of the dreams I have about you."

“You have dreams about bread that are sexier than me?” He pouts playfully and huffs at you.

"I said almost as sexy." You promise him, stepping up in line with him so that the two of you are next. "I know you eye the curves on those croissants, Monsieur Pike. No shame in loving carbohydrates in our family."

“It’s because they match your curves.” Marcus teases, sliding his hands lovingly along your sides.

"Mmhmmm." Your expression is dubious and fully amused. "And it has nothing at all to do with all those flaky, buttery, beautifully light layers in the croissants you love?"

“Mmmmh.” He ducks his head and kisses your neck. “You have buttery beautiful light layers.”

"I'm going to totally bypass how silly that sounds and go straight to sighing lovingly." Not that it's much of a stretch. Marcus putting his lips on any part of your body always makes you sigh. "But we should probably order," you nudge him away reluctantly, not trusting yourself to behave with the way pregnancy has you craving him even more than usual.

Snickering slightly, Marcus moves up to the counter and orders your ice cream and one of the pan au chocolates that he knows you will want, along with his own order. He’ll come back tomorrow for your breakfast and some tea.

The creamy, dreamy caramel ice cream is worth every single second you spend fighting the hot summer sun to lap it up before it melts on the walk back to your hotel. Marcus's free hand tangles with yours as you walk and even though your feet are going to be killing you by the time you get there, you're enjoying just being able to soak up the beautiful weather with him.

“What do you want to do when we get back to the room?” Marcus asks, knowing that despite your need for him at times, the baby sometimes makes the need for a nap greater.

"Dream scenario?" You bite back a grin and lick some ice cream off your finger. "Exhaust ourselves, take a nap, and have room service in our pjs later tonight."

“Reality?” Marcus asks with a grin.

A small laugh of admission passes your lips, and you shrug. "Reality is that I'll get exhausted a lot faster than you will, but it still sounds like a fun night."

“Doesn’t matter. Although, I told Ducasse that I would let you know that Chloe wants use to come over sometime this weekend.” He hums. “You let me know when you are feeling up to it.”

"How about I call her in the morning and set up dinner for Sunday night?" The last time you had had dinner with René and Chloe Ducasse and their kids, you had spent leisurely hours upon hours at the house enjoying their company. Somehow that seems like a perfect Sunday night to you.

“I thought you would choose Sunday.” It sounded like a perfect way to end the weekend and Saturdays have been reserved for just the two of you if work doesn’t interfere.

“As long as that’s okay with you.” Of course you would never pressure him, but if he didn’t want to have dinner with his colleague - your friend - and his family, then he would have said so.

“It sounds like a great way to end the weekend.” He assures you, happy to see the hotel in sight. He knows you love walking around Paris but you get so tired now and he doesn’t want you hurting yourself.

“Perfect.” Both dinner and the hotel on the horizon qualify as perfect, in your mind, and you hum contentedly. “I can’t wait to get out of these shoes.”

“I’ll give you a massage.” Marcus promises. The room has a small sitting area and he likes to sit on the love seat with you and rub your feet while you watch tv.

“What kind of massage?” You throw him an exaggerated, salacious grin and raise your eyebrows like a Marx brother.

“Well….” His own gaze turns lecherous, and he licks his lips in anticipation. “I was going to say foot massage, but I think your pussy looks really sore. Sitting down all day.”

“Oh yeah?” If you could, you’d practically be skipping up to the hotel in eagerness. “Is that more up your alley? Giving my poor little pussy some attention?”

“If you want.” Marcus leans in to nibble on your shoulder lightly. “Spread you out on the soft pillows and see how long I can slowly lick you until you cum. Soft and sweet.”

“And maybe more?” It’s less frequent than it used to be, with you more often being uncomfortable as the baby - and therefore your belly - gets bigger. But tonight, you know you wouldn’t be satisfied with just his tongue.

“Oh baby, I want to lay you on your side and put your leg over my hip.” Marcus promises you. “Let you feel how much I always want you.”

"Then why are we still two blocks away and not in our room?" The grin splitting your face is incorrigible, and you tug on his hand. "You know, exercise is very important for pregnant women."

His laugh is light and easy, happy that this is still palpable between you. He had heard that some women hated being touched during their pregnancy and he would have respected it, even if he hated not being able to touch you. Your pace speeds up, but he makes sure you aren’t trying to run back to the hotel. “Have to make room for dinner tonight.”

"Yes, exactly." You nod wisely, giggling as you shorten the distance between the two of you and your hotel with every long stride.

He can’t believe his luck. Here in the city where you had proposed to him, where you had conceived Theo on your honeymoon, you are now rushing back to your hotel room to spend another evening in each other’s arms. He grins at the street performer playing for tips and wonders why he ever thought it wouldn’t be Paris where you end up. He should have followed you then, but you could be damned sure he would follow you now.

******

It's supper time by the time you pull your car into the garage, tired from an extra day at work that wasn't supposed to happen. Since leaving the photography department of the Smithsonian to a director position that dealt with preservation of paintings, there have been significantly more 'emergency' days just because of the increased size of the collection that you oversee. But it doesn't matter that your back is screaming from bending over a worktable. It doesn't matter, because as soon as you get inside you'll have dinner with your husband and your kids and hop into your Halloween costume to take Theo and Amelia trick-or-treating. The fact that your kids' favourite holiday is on a Saturday this year means that the family is going all out, and even Marcus is getting dressed up to come out with you.

“I hear Mommy.” Marcus whispers to the kids, watching them giggle and their eyes widen happily, knowing you would be surprised. Even if Marcus knew that you knew the kids would be in their costumes, the kids felt like it was a surprise. Especially since Daddy had decided to dress up like Prince Charming to their Mommy’s princess costume.

Coming in through the front door, you sigh as you drop your purse on the table in the entryway and pull off your coat to hang on the rack. "Anybody home?" You call without turning around, never even seeing the house full of decorations. The only thing that's caught your attention is the smell of Marcus's homemade beef stew and possibly fresh bread - unless your nose is lying to you, which it never does when it comes to baked goods.

“In here!” Marcus holds up a finger to his lips to quell the torrent of giggles coming from the three- and two-year-old. “In the kitchen!”

His voice is coming from the opposite direction that you are facing, and you happily trudge a few steps in that direction before finally realizing what you're looking at. There are cardboard pumpkins decorating the archways, construction paper ghosts hanging from the ceiling fan, orange and black electric candles everywhere, and fake spiderwebs on the stairwell banner as well as dotted around the doorways with little plaster spiders inhabiting them like beacons of the holiday. When you turn the corner into the living room, Marcus is dressed head-to-toe in a full Prince Charming costume, little Theo is dressed as a bonafide medieval knight, and Amelia is wearing her sparkly red and orange dragon costume that will have a matching fire-themed trick or treating bag when you go out after dinner. Everyone is dressed to the nines and giggling with excitement when they shout "Surprise!", and you nearly fall over with delight at the sight of your beautiful little family. Even Cat Benetar is wearing a little cat-sized witch hat, though she is currently lazing in her bed in the corner.

"Ohhhh, look at all of you!" Your little girl is the first to leap forward, arms up and begging for a hug before you even get all the way into the room. "You all look amazing!"

“I a dragon – RAWR!” Amelia growls in your face, her little expression twisted up to be menacing but she just manages to be adorable. Marcus laughs and judiciously grabs the sword Theo is waving around so he doesn’t knock the flowers off the table.

"You're my favourite dragon in the whole world, baby girl." You promise her, laying a kiss on her cheek since her costume's head dress is covering the customary spot on her forehead. "And your brother! Such a valiant looking knight, Sir Theo."

The little boy beams at you despite temporarily losing his sword, seemingly unbothered by it at the moment. "Daddy matches you, Mommy!" He informs you excitedly, in case you haven't noticed.

"I can see that." When you turn your smile on your husband it's nearly blinding. "Prince Daddy looks very handsome in his costume."

“Hey sweetheart.” Leaning in, he gives you a kiss that has Theo huffing territorially and Amelia squealing in your arms. “Kiss me, daddy! Kiss me!”

“Kid swap.” You grin, pecking Marcus’s lips again before letting your wriggling daughter climb into her father’s arms and leaning down to pick up your pouting son to smack a kiss on his forehead. The sound of it always makes him giggle, and your children’s’ laughter is undoubtedly the best sound in the whole world. “The house looks amazing, guys! Did you have fun helping Daddy decorate?”

The chorus of “yeahs” are enthusiastic and loud enough to make your ears ring but Marcus had grown used to it. Not upset with his kids for being kids, loud and excited. “Now, we have to eat dinner before we go trick or treating.” That inspires pouts but Marcus winks at Theo and kisses Amelia’s cheek again. “Good thing too because I heard Mrs. Johnson is giving out fudgesicles.”

“Weawwy?” Amelia squeals in delight, as the toddler seems to forget that she was ever upset in the first place.

“Thank you for this, honey.” The dining room is barely seven steps away but you all take them slowly, both kids hanging on to their parents as you and Marcus move. “A museum visitor poked a painting with their glasses before the guard could stop them and a flake of paint came off. The staff panicked and went straight to calling me instead of any of the other staff.”

“Baby, how many times have you had to shoulder doing things because I got called in on a case?” Marcus scoffs, and sends you a reassuring smile. You are a team and sometimes it means he picks up the slack, sometimes it’s you, “all that matters is that you’re here for dinner and the candy haul.” Theo cheers at that, having been assured he can pick out a few pieces to eat tonight. Candy anytime is a celebration to a three-year-old.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t say thank you. This is exactly what I didn’t know I needed to come home to.” You lean over to kiss him before telling both kids that it’s time to wash up. All three of you wash your hands together in the big kitchen sink and you carry the tray of dishes and silverware into the dining room. It’s a long-practiced dance now, and within five minutes you’re all sitting down to Marcus’s amazing meal.

“After dinner, Mommy’s going to change into her Princess outfit while you guys and I get the wagon ready.” He tells the kids. They had insisted they didn’t want to look like babies with a stroller, but he knew that they would be tired within a few blocks. So the solution was the wagon.

“We’re going to go all around the neighborhood tonight, and then tomorrow we’re going to Auntie Angie and Uncle Harry’s house to watch movies and have dinner.” Your best friend said she didn’t want to do anything major for her birthday, but sitting the kids down in front of a Disney movie and making a stack of grilled cheeses with a vat of tomato soup for dinner was good in everybody’s books.

“Kick off for soup season.” Marcus grins at you, eager to tell you his news, but he wants to wait until the kids are distracted. Get your honest opinion.

"And birfday cake?" Theo's eyes widen at his father, not because of the small portion of beef stew that is being ladled into a bowl for him but because of the promise of cake tomorrow.

“I’m sure that Auntie Angie will have the most delicious cake for you to have a slice of.” Angie and Harry had been amazing friends to have close by and it was going to be sad to have to say goodbye.

"Yaaaaayyyy!" Both two little cheers make both you and Marcus laugh, and you tear a fresh roll in half for the kids to share before putting one in front of Marcus and taking one for yourself.

"So you guys had a good day?" Once your children start eating they are hyper focused, so it's a short chance for you and Marcus to talk.

The kids grunt, too busy eating to answer so Marcus decides to broach the subject. “I got a call today.” He tells you quietly “From Ducasse.”

"Oh?" Sometimes it's work and sometimes it's pleasure when you hear from René or Chloe, but either way it's nice to hear from friends. "Business or pleasure?"

“Business.” Marcus squirms slightly, adopting a slightly guilty look.

"Do they need you for a case?" It would be a shame for him to be away from home for a little while, but it isn't the first time he's had to travel for a case since the kids were born. He had brought back a Paddington bear stuffed animal for Theo from London while you were pregnant with Amelia, and goodies for the kids from Rome just six months ago. He was working more and more with INTERPOL and seemed to really enjoy it, so you fully encouraged it every time. Even if it meant missing him for a little while.

“More than a case.” Marcus draws out slowly, wishing that he had more time, but the kids will be done with their food soon. “René has been promoted.” He reveals softly. “And he wants me to join INTERPOL to help him.”

"Oh my..." You can barely keep yourself from cursing or shouting or even exclaiming, knowing that if you do the kids will immediately start asking questions. "Are you serious? Is it...is it a good position?" Breathless, you feel absolutely breathless. "Do you want to take it?"

“I would be the assistant director of the Paris INTERPOL division.” Marcus nods. “I’m never going to advance past my position here and it’s good, but the position is a twenty percent increase and we can live in Paris.”

"It's how much?" Practically hissing to keep your voice down, you can feel your eyes widen and the excitement start to build, and a quick glance at the kids shows that they couldn't care less about paying attention to you. "Baby, th—that...that's amazing." You place your hand on this thigh under the table and give it a gentle squeeze. "But do you want to take it?" If he says no then it's the end of the discussion. Even if you had spent plenty of time dreaming about living in Paris together over the last few years, the reality of anything is always different from the dream.

“I do.” Marcus has given it a lot of thought since the call, especially since the kids are still young enough to soak up a second language quickly. The idea of being able to travel across Europe on the weekends and let the kids live in historic places is a heady thought. “If you still want to go. I know you have your own career to think about.”

"There is a lot of work for conservationists in the area." It's not as though Paris doesn't have its fair share of museums and galleries, and private collectors to boot. But you bite your lip a little and squeeze his leg again, excitement starting to leak through. "But I've been thinking about going back to teaching." He knows that you loved the classes that you taught at GWU a few years ago, but you hadn't really brought it up recently. "The munchkins will be school age soon and I could have summers off with them. Even if the Sorbonne is a pipe dream for a professorship, American University of Paris has a wonderful art history program."

“I do think that professorships pay more in Europe.” He jokes. “Plus we will be able to travel around the continent on the weekends.”

"Look at you." He is lit up, giddy happiness written all over his face just like both times you told him you were pregnant. He's beaming with barely contained excitement. And although your voice is quiet, you know you're smiling a lot harder than you were just two minutes ago. "You've already been looking at real estate, haven't you?"

“No.” He huffs defensively, giving a small shrug. “René already said there is an apartment that’s about to go on the market in his building. I just asked how much it was going for.”

"René is trying to sweeten the deal." The building that the Ducasse family lives in is a converted mansion that has been split into three family-sized 'apartments' that are basically good-sized condos. They're stunning. "And he knows how much I love that building."

“He really wants me.” Marcus admits with a grin. “Even hinted that if I pushed, a housing allowance would be thrown in to sweeten the deal.”

"Holy...sugar." You swallow thickly and lean over to press a kiss to your husband's cheek. The gears are turning in your head, and you know what a move of this magnitude will take a lot of organization. "How soon does René need you? It will take a little while to get everything squared away here."

“Honestly?” Marcus grins. “I was thinking about us ringing in the new year in our new home?”

The smile that spreads across your face is gleaming, and when you glance at the kids you get just a snippet of their very involved discussion of whether or not knights ever ride dragons into battle or if dragons are strictly fellow soldiers. "Then I guess I better update my resume," you murmur, feeling the pull of undeniable excitement. "And we should start teaching these monkeys some French."

“Yeah?” Marcus’s matching grin gets even brighter. “It’s a good thing my own French has improved. As well as my Spanish.” He knew it wouldn’t take much to convince you, but he’s still excited about the prospect of starting a new adventure with you.

"It means the holidays will be a blow out this year." The last American holiday season will be one that both of your families will want to make a big deal out of. Especially if you're going to be moving before New Years. "It's going to be an amazing new chapter."

“I am thinking we invite mom and your parents here?” Marcus’s dad had passed away while you were carrying Amelia, but he was happy that his father got to meet his namesake.

"Definitely." In your seat it's easy to lean against him, breathing in the promise of something new. An adventure you'll take as a family. The family you were always meant to be. "I love you so much, Marc. And I'm so proud of you. Being headhunted by INTERPOL is a huge deal."

“It’s a notch in my professional belt for sure.” He won’t deny that. His time at the FBI has been very fulfilling, but he wants to balance work and life a bit more than the Bureau allows and INTERPOL allows for that. “But nothing is as important as the three of you.”

"The three of us are with you." You promise him. "Always."

He reaches for your hand, a habit that he has no interest in ever breaking. “Just one question.” He poses, staring at you seriously. “Do they have tequila in France? Or are we going to have to smuggle it in?”

"No, my love. We won't have to smuggle it in." It takes everything you have not to burst out laughing at the table, and you barely stifle it long enough to lean over and press a kiss to your husband's lips. "They definitely have tequila in France."

“Good.” Marcus winks at you. “Because you know I’m supposed to stop smuggling, not participate in it.” For a long time, he hadn’t been able to touch it, too much of a reminder of you. Since you’ve stormed back into his life like you had the first time he met you, Marcus loves the taste of tequila again. Almost as much as he loves you.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Agent Marcus Pike #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic #ex wife reader #CURRENT WIFE reader!#we love paris

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wardenparker · 1 year

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The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - ch 9

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.** Summary: Paris may be tumultuous at first, but it’s the City of Love for a very good reason. Guys, I have no defense for this one. I just really love Paris and want to go there so fucking badly... Notes: Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who came along for this wonderful ride with us! Next week we’ll be posting the epilogue for this story and then rolling right into something new immediately. The wheels of chaos in our minds never stop rolling so the fics just keep on coming. 🧡🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

Thanks to the overnight flight and the comfort of being able to sleep in first class, when you and Marcus touch down in Paris at 8:30 the next morning, you pretty much manage to avoid the fuzzy feeling of jetlag. It's been years since you've been back here but everything feels just the same, giving you a satisfying feeling of homecoming as you set out through the airport toward the taxi stand to ride out to his colleague's office.

"Sorry." Marcus tosses you a small, apologetic look as the taxi drives erratically through the city. "I'll see what's up and then if you want to go to the hotel, we can see about checking in." He knows you might not be up for hitting the ground running and he can carry this alone if he needs to.

“No, no, it’s okay.” As the city passes by the taxi windows you sink back and allow yourself an indulgent smile. You might be working, but it’s nice to be back. “Let’s go and be briefed for the case and all of that. Find out what we’re working with.”

“Thank you.” Marcus picks up your hand and kisses the back of it. “For coming with me. Saves me from having to choose an agent to bring with me.”

“I hope I’m half as effective as any of your team members are.” You kiss the back of his hand in turn and give it a supportive squeeze. The people you’ve met from his department have all been friendly and kind, and his stories paint them to be very good at their jobs on top of being nice people. “Plus, I’m infinitely more fun to play dress up with.”

“And I won’t feel exceedingly guilty if I had to pretend to be romantic with a co-worker.” Marcus knows there will be a time, but he doesn’t want to do that so early in your renewed relationship.

“Work is work.” Of all the problems you ever did have, jealousy or worry about infidelity was never one of them. You and Marcus are both loyal people to the core.

“I know.” The fact that your belief in him doesn’t waver is incredible. “But right now, work has you playing my wife.” He winks at you. “You might be good at that role.”

"It's almost like method acting," you tease, briefly sticking your tongue out at him as the taxi winds its way toward the nondescript office where his colleagues are waiting.

Marcus helps you out and tips the driver, hauling the luggage up the stairs after shooting you a dirty look when you protest that you can get your own bag. “Get the door.” He huffs at you.

“Stubborn.” You chide him teasingly, and slip past him to open the door. The woman at the desk seems pleasantly surprised that you speak much better French than Marcus, but switches to English for ease. She directs you to the second floor and gives you an office number, assuring Marcus that he is expected.

“Monsieur Pike.” The Interpol agent immediately greets you at the elevator, obviously being given a heads up about your arrival. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Marcus nods, adjusting bags so he can shake hands. “Happy to help, this is Dr. Pike. She is a director at the Smithsonian.” He introduces you, looking at you with quiet pride.

“Pike?” Ducasse looks between you, at the suitcases Marcus won’t let you carry and how you stand close together, keeping each other in your line of sight despite not always being focused on the same thing. Confident but not showing off. “I did not know you had gotten married. Welcome, Madame. Your expertise will be invaluable.”

Marcus catches your eye, tilting his head to communicate that he will follow your lead on how to explain your relationship to these people. Not wanting to embarrass you or to make you feel as if you are pressed to answer dozens of questions.

“We are divorced, but reconciled. A story for another time, perhaps.” Honesty, above all, especially when dealing with his colleagues, and you shake the man’s hand politely before allowing yourself to be ushered into a nearby office. “I am happy to extend my expertise to the FBI and to INTERPOL.”

“That will be a story to hear.” Ducasse’s brows shoot up in intrigue but he doesn’t press, instead motioning to you towards a seat and taking one of the bags from Marcus to stack the luggage in the corner of a cluttered office.

“What can you tell us about this case?” Marcus ask, shifting the conversation to the matter at hand. “How did you come to know about the art and this auction?”

"We had a tip that one of the warehouses that the local police were monitoring has seen some substantial movement and pursued several leads before finding the location of the auction. There is a mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain currently owned by an alias of Jean-Luc Poitiers." The quick-speaking INTERPOL agent begins to point out photographs on the pin board lining one wall of the crowded room. "Poitiers has been underground long enough for any of the heat from his competition to die down, and it appears that this is where he has been suffering his isolation." Ducasse rolls his eyes as though considering a mansion in the gorgeous Seventh Arrdonissement a place to suffer is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. "The auction is extremely exclusive, by invitation only, but we have taken care of that while you were in the air."

“You got us an invite.” Marcus grins. “Who are we pretending to be?”

"A married couple, conveniently." Ducasse pulls a file out from under several other things on the desk beside him and hands it to Marcus to peruse. "Mr. and Mrs. Luke Martinez of New York City. Second house in the Hamptons, eight figure annual income from real estate holdings and investments. You will be asked to submit banking details upon your arrival, we will supply you with the numbers and the false funds." He leans back, half-sitting on the edge of his desk. "We will surround the building, ready to lock it down for arrests and to seize the stolen art, but we need you to actually put eyes on those paintings."

“What I wouldn’t give to have that be our lives.” Marcus jokes as he flips through the files and skims the background on the couple. “We will need to buy some clothes that reflect this.”

"You can attend to that this afternoon. There is some budget to be spared for it." Ducasse had made sure of it, not wanting to leave anything to chance.

"Does Mrs. Martinez have a listed career or am I a housewife?" You don't peak over Marcus's arm at the file in case there are things that aren't meant to be shared with civilians. You just want to have your story straight. "Or, um...a first name?"

“There’s nothing here you can’t see as a consultant on this case.” Marcus provides and grins at you. “Your name is Penelope.” He explains as he hands the file over.

"Well of course, why wouldn't it be?" The file has pages of background information and numbers that you hope you can memorize, but as you start to flip through the pages you practically feel your heart stop. There is a photograph of two men walking down the street side by side, one talking into a cell phone and the other checking his watch. The man on his phone is tall and lean, with curly brown hair and bright green eyes, and a jawline only slightly less defined than Marcus's. The crisp, blue suit is nothing like you remember, but his face is unmistakable. "Wh—who is this?" You ask, pointing at the image like you're afraid the man might jump out of the photograph and attack.

“That—” Ducasse snorts and taps the photo. “Is Henri Aubel.” He informs you. “He has been in Interpol’s sights for a long time, but we have been unable to pinpoint the crimes on him, unfortunately.”

"I..." Looking between Marcus and Ducasse, you can feel your stomach drop and a wave of nausea hits you out of nowhere. "I know him," you murmur, reaching for Marcus's hand like a security blanket. "I mean...we—we dated. While I was living here...years ago." The man you had known then was bright and seemingly sincere. Incredibly charming, yes, but you had never had any kind of inclination whatsoever that he was a criminal.

“Shit.” Marcus immediately frowns, aware that your cover won’t work. “Then we need a new game plan. Because if he recognizes her, ‘Penelope Martinez’ will be in danger.” The last thing he wants or is willing to do, it put you in danger for a case.

“Was it a close relationship?” Typically not a man to pry for personal information from new acquaintances, the rules have just changed for Ducasse since this is related to his case. He flies around to the other side of his desk to sit down, immediately tapping away at his keyboard to bring up the file on Henri Aubel. “What did you know of him then?”

The irony isn’t lost on you. To have just left a case with Marcus’s ex-fiancée behind only last night and for this one to now include your ex-boyfriend? The universe is having a nice laugh at your expense. “I met him at a gallery opening while I was a student at the Sorbonne. We…we were on and off for about two years, but I never had any idea that what he was involved in was criminal. I just thought he was an artist with a wealthy family.” Although, now that you know that he is wanted by INTERPOL, you’ll be combing back through every memory you have of him to see what you can glean. You squeeze Marcus’s hand gently, feeling like a child who has been caught being naughty. “I’m sorry,” you murmur under your breath, knowing that you have made this all incredibly awkward.

Marcus frowns and shakes his head. “It was ten years ago.” He reminds you. “It’s hard to know who people will become when you are a college student.” The only thing he’s worried about is your safety. “But maybe this is better.” He offers. “We don’t go in as the Martinez’s, did— did Henri know about me? Or that Pike was your married name?”

“Yes.” Swallowing is harsh and almost painful, like the lump in your throat is very real. “But back then you were going to be in marketing. I never had any idea you would go into law enforcement.”

“Good.” Marcus flashes you a supportive smile, aware that your guilt is amplified right now. He turns towards Ducasse. “So we pose as ourselves, just— fictional images of them. Is that doable with the invitations?” He asks seriously. Neither one of you are on social media, so it wasn’t like accounts would have to be modified.

“It should be.” Ducasse is nodding as types rather furiously. “At the risk of being indelicate, Madame, this may work to our advantage. A surprise like this can throw off even the most careful of men.” He looks up at you, eyebrows raised slightly, and tilts his head. “Henri Aubel is a dangerous man. If you did not know that about him, then you did not know the real him.”

“Then I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.” There is an empty chair nearby, and you sit down in it with the case file still in your hands. “I think it will surprise him, though, to see me. We were…well, I thought we were very close. But obviously he was never entirely honest with me.”

Marcus takes the file from your hand, turning towards you and giving you his full attention. “Listen to me, baby,” he begs you softly, seeing the hurt and turmoil in your eyes. “Men like Aubel have been taught from a young age to hide who they truly are. He never had any intention of you finding out who he is. Took advantage of you being unfamiliar with his family, with France. That makes him manipulative, you did nothing wrong.”

“Thank you.” Even though your voice is quiet it’s clear, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders to squeeze tightly and murmur a soft “I love you” in his ear. It feels heavy, and wrong, and like you’re in trouble, but you know that’s just the shock of discovery.

“So we say that I’m— fuck, I was a hedge fund manager who made it big and wants to indulge in art?” Marcus tosses out, looking over at Ducasse. “How does that sound? New money, and my wife knows art?”

“That will work.” The INTERPOL agent nods, looking back at his screen before looking over at Marcus again. “Use New York City as your base, but use whatever details of your past suit you. The banking details are an offshore account in order not to raise any red flags, and I will simply change the name on the false account to reflect your real name. There is jewelry in the evidence lock up that you can use as props.” He sees nothing on either of your fingers now, so obviously it will be needed. “When you are out today getting your clothing for tomorrow night, please be as obviously affectionate as you feel comfortable with. On the off chance that Aubel has been watching to see if Dr. Pike will come back to Paris, we want your cover to hold up.”

Marcus nods, looking back at you again. “Are you okay with this?” He asks softly. “I can still find someone else if you don’t want to see him again.”

“It would be slightly hypocritical to back out when you just had to spend three weeks with a case with your ex.” You remind him. “And…and Monsieur Ducasse seems to think it could help.” You shake your head, offering Marcus a smile when you can summon it up. “I’ll be okay. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be okay.”

"I won't leave your side." Marcus promises, sure that he will stick to you like glue in the first undercover op you've ever participated in. His own need to make sure you are safe wouldn't allow it, even if he thought this Aubel wouldn't hurt you.

“We will do everything in our power to make sure no harm comes to you.” Ducasse assures you earnestly. “If I thought this would be more dangerous for you for knowing Aubel, I would not send you in. But I must ask, Madame. Do you know how to use a gun?”

The question makes you shiver a little, not being a big fan of firearms, but you nod. “Marcus has taken me to the firing range. We have one in the house, so I’ve learned.”

Ducasse nods and his eyes flicker over towards the FBI agent. He can tell that the man who had previously worked on a case with INTERPOL isn't exactly comfortable with his wife being in harm’s way. Not that he blames him, but this is a fortuitous situation and he will use everything in his power to get Aubel behind bars. He's wasted too many hours on chasing him to give up because your ex is the suspect. "I doubt you will need to, but we always send in our operatives armed." He allows.

“Why don’t you tell us more of what we’ll need to know for tomorrow?” With a whole day and night to prepare, you know that there will be plenty to learn and plenty of time to ask questions, but also plenty of time to build an alibi by being seen in the city. If what Ducasse says is true, people may be watching.

******

Hours later, Marcus sighs in relief when you are able to get to your rooms. With the knowledge that people might be watching, the bags had been delivered and you along with Marcus had started a very loving shopping trip along some of the more upscale stores in Paris. Now he's happy to just be alone with you and not worry about someone photographing you or approaching.

“I never thought shopping on the Champs-Élysées would be stressful.” Wrapped up in his arms in the exquisite suite, you and Marcus both sigh heavily and absorb the calm of being alone for a little while.

"It doesn't help when you are wondering when your ex is going to pop out from behind a bush." Marcus pulls you into his arms and sighs. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I didn't know. I wouldn't have put you in the middle of this if I had."

“You didn’t know?” You huff at him, perching your chin on his chest to look up at him. “I didn’t know! I feel like such an idiot never realizing he was lying to me for two whole years. And honey…” Fingers gently tracing his face, you cup his cheek in your palm and offer him a smile. “I would never let you face this alone if there is even the tiniest possibility that I can help.”

“I appreciate that.” He sighs softly. “So much for romance in Paris.” He can’t help but chuckle. “Not exactly turning out how I wanted.”

“René suggested we spend some of tomorrow doing romantic or touristy things, so we can still have some fun.” The INTERPOL agent had turned out to be a very kind and likable man, and by the time lunch came you and he had been joking together over tartine. “I know it’s not perfect, but maybe we can squeeze an extra day of paperwork,” you say the word in air quotes, “out after this is over and have a day to ourselves?”

“That would work.” Marcus admits, “taking in the sights before we buy stolen artwork.”

“I could take you to my old neighborhood?” It’s something you wanted to do anyway, and might feel a little less like being on display. “Walk around, grab lunch, maybe go in and out of some shops?”

"Whatever you want to do." Marcus promises. Despite the curve ball, he wants this trip to be one of fond memories when you look back on it years from now. Especially since he will be able to propose in the city that you had always loved.

“I had a couple of places that I always thought you would love.” And that just makes you hug him a little tighter, knowing that something good will come out of this trip no matter what happens with the case - although you know Marcus will see it through to the best possible outcome.

"I will love them." Marcus promises. "Because I will be with you."

“I love you, too.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bring him down for a kiss and let it linger in the privacy of your quiet suite of rooms. “What do you want to do before dinner?” Ducasse had suggested a visible night on the town just in case Henri or his people were having you watched - either as his ex or as an attendee of the auction.

"I will leave it up to you." Marcus leans back and shoots you a grin. "This is your city, baby." He sends you a wink. "Show me the sights."

“Then we’re going to Harry’s after dinner.” Harry’s New York Bar is a legendary hangout of the Lost Generation, and given his love of all things F Scott Fitzgerald, it will be the perfect place for celebrating tonight. “You’ll love it. I mean, I hope you will.”

"Harry's?" Marcus looks at you skeptically. "That sounds like a nice place to drink." He hums and slides his hands down to caress your ass. "You want to get ready to go out?"

"You just want to get me into one of those slinky dresses we bought today." You wiggle your ass in his hand and grin, giggling when he raises an eyebrow at you like that should have been obvious. "Should we eat dinner someplace swanky to keep up appearances?"

"What is the swankiest place we can get reservations at the last minute?" He asks, smirking at you because there is nothing he wants more than you to put on a slinky dress and go have a fabulous meal before he proposes in one of the most romantic cities in the world. The ring in his pocket is burning a hole in it and he wants to see it on your finger.

“I bet if we had the concierge call it would do better than if one of us tried.” Your eyes flick up to his with mischief shining in them, wondering if you could even pull this idea off. “Madame Brasserie or Jules Verne? À la Tour Eiffel?”

"Whichever one you've never been too and always wanted to try." He tells you indulgently.

"Madame Brasserie is the newer of the two restaurants in the Eiffel Tower, so it might be harder. But I wouldn't mind eating at either one." There's something altogether too indulgent about the idea and you sigh a little dreamily. "I'll call down to the front desk and see what they can do."

"I'm going to jump in the shower." Marcus offers. "We've been going nonstop since we got here and I at least want to wash off the travel before dinner tonight."

"That sounds like a plan." You reach up to kiss him again before letting him out of your arms. "I'll shower after you. Otherwise we'll be having room service because we can't keep our hands off each other."

"You know that's exactly what would happen." Marcus winks at you and grabs his bag so he can get his toiletry kit out. "Make your calls and I'll be getting sudsy in there."

******

About an hour and a half later you're both finally ready and barely keeping your hands off of each other despite showering separately. The blue velvet dress you chose for tonight hugs all of Marcus's favourite parts of your body and the perfectly fitted charcoal gray suit he settled on is elegant and easy, making him look even more effortlessly handsome than usual. "The concierge said he would have a car waiting for us." You tell him, taking one step toward the door of your suite before he can pounce and trying to swallow down your nerves over the little blue box in the bottom of your purse. "Jules Verne had one reservation left for tonight and we got in just in time." And because you told the concierge about your plans, he had made sure to arrange for a few things to be waiting for you in your room when you returned tonight.

"Perfect." Marcus has heard of the restaurant and he wants nothing more than for this to be the perfect night. Regardless of what happens on the case, he wants you to have a night you can look back at dreamily. His first proposal had been sweet and earnest, not exactly fancy, but now the need for a grand gesture is almost compulsory. "We still have the elevator ride down to be handsy."

"Let's hope we get it to ourselves then." You throw him a wink over your shoulder before heading out the door, knowing Marcus will be close on your heels.

"Jesus, Paris you is saucy" Marcus chuckles as he hustles after you. "I like it."

"I've decided to enjoy the trip and make the most of it." The door clicks shut behind him and his arm slips around your waist as you walk down the hallway together, just a few feet to the corner and then the elevators, but still far enough for you to get cozy while you walk. "My favourite city in the world with my favourite person is not something to waste."

“Favorite person huh?” The proud grin stretches across his face and he edges closer when you reach the elevator, then he leans forward to call the car to your floor. “I am honored. Especially since you’re my favorite person.”

"I think honoured might be a stretch," you tease, leaning against the wall while you wait for the elevator together. "All I want is for you to be happy, baby. To be the one that makes you happy."

“Baby – you’ve always made me happy.” That is something that he can promise. Right up until you wanted out, Marcus had been the happiest he had ever been in his life. He reaches up and caresses your neck. “Always.”

"I love you so much." Wishing you could go back and erase the years apart won't change anything, but you lean up to kiss him now without hesitation. The future is what matters now. Your future together.

“I love you too.” The promise is simple, heartfelt and the look in your eyes has him wanting to drop down to his knee right now, but he knows it’s not time.

"Come on, love." The soft ding of the elevator interrupts you, but it doesn't matter. There will be plenty more sweet moments before the night is over.

Marcus allows you to pull him into the elevator and hums when he finds the car empty. “Should I wait to kiss you?” He asks, smirking slightly. “Don’t want to mess up your lipstick.”

The eyebrow you raise at him is incredulous, and you shake your head at him as the door closes to leave you alone for at least another minute. "Kiss proof," you inform him, as though it were ridiculous that you would wear anything else around him.

Thank God for whoever invented 'kiss proof' lipstick. Marcus has always loved you without makeup, straight out of the bed, but there is something so sexy when you are dressed up. Even if it's not technically for him, he feels like it is. Just like you love when he puts on cologne. Tugging you closer, he grins at you. "Well, we need to test that." He hums, "we haven't kissed with this lipstick color on."

“It’s a new brand, too.” He’s drawing you into him so easily you feel like a moth going to a spectacularly handsome flame. “How will know they’re telling the truth unless we test it?”

“Indeed.” Marcus makes it slow, gentle. Taking his time like the car isn’t slowing down as it reaches the ground floor.

It’s so easy to wrap up in each other. To let yourselves get carried away with affection and the romance of being in Paris together. The passionate kiss is intentionally and immediately intense – deep and luxurious and would probably be borderline pornographic if anyone was watching.

The doors open and there is a discreet cough before Marcus pulls away. Smiling apologetically as he finds a couple waiting to come onto the car. “Désolé pour ça.” Sorry about that. The apology is perfunctory, because he’s not sorry at all.

You can hear the woman muttering about Americans as you and Marcus stroll out through the lobby and it’s all you can do to contain your giggles. “Sorry not sorry.” You whisper, beaming at him. The concierge is waiting to load you into the car that he has ordered on your behalf, and you swear you feel like you’re in a movie. It might be a crime thriller, but it’s still elegant and passionate, and you love it.

"I'm not sorry either." Marcus keeps his hand on your back until you are sliding into the car and he is slipping in beside you. Allowing you to tell the driver where you are going since you are better familiar with the area.

Fortunately for tonight’s plans, you aren’t far from the Eiffel Tour. It’s an easy sight from the windows of your suite and a straightforward drive that only takes a few minutes - though the walk would be uncomfortable in heels. You’re grateful to have the driver and will certainly be tipping him at the end of the night even though it isn’t a necessity here the way it is in the US. When he lets you out at the edge of the park that surrounds the monument, Marcus slips out first and you happily accept his hand to maintain a little propriety while climbing out of the car in a skirt much shorter than your usual. “Now we go up,” you tell Marcus, practically sighing as you look up through the layers and layers of metal that compose the Eiffel Tower. Some people say they’re disappointed the first time they see it, but you’ve never understood why. It’s remarkable - an architectural triumph that stands out in the Paris skyline like a beacon.

“Did you know that the tower only took two years, two months and five days to build?” Marcus asks, nearly giddy as he climbs out of the car and offers you his hand. “Not bad for something that’s stood for over one hundred years.”

“I thought you might like to see it up close.” Yes, he has been to Paris for work, but you doubt he’s taken any extra leisure time for himself in all of that. “I came here my very first night in the city. I dropped off my bags at my little student apartment, and started walking across the city. Bought a crepe from a vendor on the street and sat on…” It takes you a second to find it, but as your eyes comb the area, they land on a bench a few yards away. “That bench, and looked up at the Tour Eiffel as I ate my dinner.”

“What did you think about while you were looking up at her?” Marcus asks curiously, wanting to know about your time here. Even if he wasn’t a part of it, you had history here.

"That she made me feel less lonely." You thread your fingers through his gently and give them a soft squeeze. It might sound like a sentimental answer, but you know that Marcus will understand. "If I was sitting here looking up at her, surely I wasn't the only one. So...it sort of became tradition. Any time I felt lonely I would come sit and spend time with her. And I knew that she was keeping other lonely people company. So I was automatically less alone."

“I understand that.” Marcus does, he had found plenty of little parks or monuments where he had been living to visit. Wanting to feel surrounded. It had always been that way since you had left.

"Come on, love." A small tug on his hand has both of you smiling at each other, but you nod toward the monument. "There's a special elevator for people having dinner at Jules Verne."

“How touristy is it that we are having dinner here?” He asks as you drag him closer to you. It might be incredibly cliché, but he’s thinking about proposing after dinner. Asking you if you will go up to the observation deck with him.

“Extremely.” And it doesn’t bother you in the least. In fact, it’s sweet. Sharing the city with Marcus means playing tourist in the best way possible. “But I think that’s a good thing. It’s a first for both of us and it’s going to be a beautiful meal.”

“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” Marcus admits, staring at you like you hung the moon. “The last time I was here, I—I couldn’t make myself come here.”

You turn back to him after hitting the button for the elevator, a soft but serious expression drawn on your face as you reach to touch his cheek. “Neither of us ever has to face anything along again, Marc.” You can promise him that. Wholeheartedly and without hesitation. “From now on, each chapter of our lives will have two main characters.”

“I love you.” Marcus whispers, knowing that down to the very fiber of his being. He’s never stopped, never. Not even when he convinced himself that he had moved on. You were just ingrained in his being like the hair color on his head or the way he has to lay on his right side to really sleep.

“I love you too.” Through all the ups and downs, the hardest struggles and the clearest days, it’s always been him. “Always.”

The ride up to the restaurant is shared with a young couple who are obviously on their honeymoon, making Marcus grin at the display of young love. “Don’t act like that’s not exactly how we are,” you murmur under your breath to him once the other couple has moved ahead of you to the maître’d stand. The couple are probably barely older than you were the first time you got married and you’re all the exact same level of handsy.

“Exactly.” Marcus steps up to the maître’d stand once they are being led off to be seat. “The couple in front of us?” He gestures towards the couple. “Champagne? To their table? And I will pay their bill.” He decides, wanting them to have a magical night.

“Oui, monsieur…” The gentleman provides ample space for Marcus to say his last name, and smiles in polite acknowledgment at the name Pike. He knows this reservation. Took it himself barely two hours ago. “Right this way,” he says in clear English, gracefully motioning for you to follow.

“After you.” Marcus lets you walk in front of him, so he can help you sit and so he can glance down at your ass in the gorgeous dress you are wearing. Reminding himself of exactly what is underneath.

The indulgent mood you’re both in extends to deciding on the seven-course menu with all the recommended wine pairings, and settling in at your table in the corner with a perfect view of Paris below from the window beside you.

“This is probably better than anything we could have imagined when we were their age.” Marcus had seen the surprise and delight in the younger couple’s faces when the champagne had been delivered. Looking around to see who had gifted them such a thing, Marcus hadn’t let them know. Hoping that one day, they would do the same to another young couple starting out.

“I hope they’re so excited for everything to come.” You reach across the table to link your fingers together and run your thumb over the back of Marcus’s hand. “They’re starting a whole new chapter of their lives.”

“Yes, they are.” Marcus looks down at your joined hands and smiles. Fully aware that the same can be said for you. The ring in his pocket is making him eager for the dinner to be over. You are wearing a ring that is a part of the mission tomorrow, but tonight, he wants you to wear his.

“Speaking of which.” The smile you flash him is bright and bubbly, and you hang onto his hand like a lifeline. “I want to talk to you about a dream I had on the flight over last night.” It’s just a silly thing, but it’s about sharing those silly thoughts and future plans with him. Something that you had trouble with years ago.

“Oh?” Marcus ticks his brow up in curiosity. “What kind of dream is this? I promise I didn’t leave the toilet seat up or cheat on you with your non-existent cousin.”

“No, it was nothing like that.” Although the idea of being cross with him over a dream about leaving the toilet seat up makes you laugh. “It was a coming-home-from-work dream.”

“Oh yeah?” He shuffles closer, getting the hint that this is one of those ‘want to make this happen’ dreams. “Coming home to me, I hope?”

“And the kids.” When you nod it’s with heated cheeks and a shy smile. “In the dream it was some kind of holiday? I couldn’t tell what, but I came home and you had been decorating the house with the kids all day to surprise me.”

“Halloween.” Marcus guesses, knowing how much you love the spooky holiday.

“Maybe.” The fact that he’s playing along has you lighting up as you smile at him. “But I came home, and you told me that before we had dinner, that the kids had a surprise for me.” In the dream you remember being incredulous until Marcus had supported this surprise - a fact which reassured you that it wasn’t a brand new crayon mural on the living wall or something like that. “And that surprise was a very cute and tiny little kitten.”

“A kitten, huh?” Marcus grins and shakes his head in amusement. He’s had a mild cat allergy but luckily the medications had improved since he was a child. “A smokey grey one or a black cat?”

“I was thinking one of the breeds that’s kinder to allergies,” you admit sheepishly, knowing he would probably be a little extra sneezy when the dear cat sheds seasonally. “In the dream it was a Siamese, but I don’t know how they are for shedding.”

“We can always look into that. I think they are better?” He tilts his head. “But honestly...” he twists his fingers around and pulls your hand closer. “I like the idea of having to introduce the baby to the cat when we bring them home from the hospital? Give them a little guardian from the start?”

“So you’d rather have the cat first?” For some reason that thrills you - as if it were a validation that the steps you’ve been taking to solidify your relationship ship are working. “We can do that.” You’re practically squeaking at the idea, so it’s fairly obvious that you like it. “Have our first baby be the fur baby?”

“Practice, right?” Marcus laughs. “If we can keep a cat alive, we graduate to a miniature human?”

“That sounds like a good plan to me.” Though you both laugh easily together, you’re practically vibrating with excitement in your seat. “I just think we aren’t home enough for a puppy. And cats are so sweet.”

“Cats are more…independent.” Marcus allows, grinning softly. “Maybe after we get back, we could visit a shelter. See if it’s kitten season? Or maybe even an older, sweet soul who wants a home for their twilight years?”

“We can absolutely start looking around shelters.” It was really just an idea that you were throwing out there - something that made you smile and gave you that feeling of making your house into more of a home. But in true Marcus fashion, he has turned it into something sweet and spectacular. “Although I insist that if we get a kitten, they have a silly name.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus grins, nodding in agreement. “Something that will sound adorable and be completely opposite the personality.”

“Bonus points if it is something will sound completely bizarre being called out at the vet’s office.” It absolutely tickles you that he’s going with you on this, knowing that his childhood dog was innocuously named Buddy. “Something long and elaborate that will be extremely silly when scolding them. We need to get all the comical naming impulses out of us before the kids are born.”

“Mr. Fuzzlesworth.” Marcus tosses out with a grin, enjoying the idea of planning with you. Obviously you would need to get home before choosing a pet, but this is what relationships are about, planning.

“Sir Fuzzbutt de Fluffington.” You nearly double over, giggling at the table. “Although, Mr. Fuzzlesworth kind of sounds like a Dickens character and I love it.”

Marcus chuckles, enchanted by your enthusiasm for this. Hating that the two of you have to break apart when the first course is served. It looks delicious and it's obvious that the waitstaff tries to make this an experience for those who dine with them.

"Cheers." Raising your glass to him when the plates have been set down and the wine has been poured, you have nothing but love in your eyes when you look across the table at Marcus. This is a far more eventful night than just this same time yesterday, and hopefully the food will be just as exquisite - if not even more so. "To us."

"To us." He will never not toast to that. "I think we are getting spoiled with nice dinners." He hums as he taps his glass to yours softly. "How will we go back to eating Thai takeout or Chinese on our couch?"

"Easy." You waggle your eyebrows at him salaciously and lower your voice. "The incentive is that we can do that naked."

"You got me there." Marcus smirks and nods. "That's a good incentive."

The courses are exquisite. Crab, scallops with caviar, langoustine ravioli, cod poached in consommé with fennel. Every plate is like a dance, and it genuinely might be the best meal you've ever had in your entire life. "We're coming back here," you tell Marcus when he groans happily at the chicken course that's been cooked with black truffles and wine you know for sure is too expensive for weeknight drinking. "The first night of our honeymoon, we have to come back."

"I have no objections to that." Marcus takes another bite and closes his eyes in pure bliss. "None."

Hopefully there will be a more sentimental reason to come back to this place on your honeymoon, but you have to keep that close to you for just a little while longer. Instead you just smirk and tilt your head at him. "Although the hotel might be a bit of a stretch. I'm enjoying that for what it's worth on this trip."

"That hotel room is a dream." He rolls his eyes dramatically. "I never get rooms that good on cases. We are stuck in something like a Days Inn. Not that they are bad, but it's not...this."

"Maybe I'm magic?" You tease, knowing that dealing with your former flame on a case isn't exactly magical. But at least it's come with something positive for him. "Like a flashy good luck charm you can keep on your arm."

"I'd keep you in my pocket if I could." He chuckles, winking at you playfully. "But on my arm is okay too. I guess."

"That would be a very big pocket to whole a whole adult person." Although the image is fairly adorable, you'll give him that. "But I'll tell you what. If you ever find one big enough, I'll hop right in."

"You know they make huge pocket blankets for being lazy on a couch all weekend, right?" Marcus grins at you, knowing he will order you one for Christmas now.

"I actually did not know that." You grin at him over the last few bites of this fifth course. "Sounds great for cuddling."

Chuckling softly, Marcus manages to get through the rest of the dinner without giving away that every course makes him even more jittery. Eager to get to the best part of the night in his opinion. Getting to propose to you and show you how much he loves you and wants to make this forever.

The last two courses are sweet - lemon and then chocolate - leaving both you and Marcus feeling more full than you've felt in ages but independently anxious and excited without the other having any clue. If you had known in that moment that you had the very same plan in mind it might have made you laugh or even rethink the occasion to try to surprise the other one all over again. But as it is, when you step out of the restaurant after your sensational dinner, you look up at Marcus and smile softly. "Do you want to see the best view of Paris you'll ever have in your life?"

"You read my mind, baby." Marcus answers with an indulgent smile of his own and he couldn't get closer to you if he tried as he leans in. Wanting to keep the moment as intimate as possible.

"Come here." There is almost no one on the observation deck at this time of night, and you've never been so grateful for coincidences in your entire life. The last two people looking out over the city in this area wander away toward the restaurant to enjoy their dinner as you and Marcus choose a place to stand, and for a moment you're sure that the strangers bolted from the scene because they could hear how hard your heart is beating. Surely if the pounding in your ears is as loud as your heart, then the whole world around you can hear it, too.

"It's a perfect night." Marcus has done this before and yet his heart still beats wildly and he can feel the slight moisture of nerves dampening the shirt under his suit jacket. Coming over to you and taking your hand gently as he turns to make a show of looking out over the city of Paris under the gorgeously full moon.

"It's the perfect view." Paris is secondary to everything, right now, although it's the perfect backdrop for what you're about to do. While Marcus is looking out over the city, and despite how hard you're shaking, you manage to hold his hand while carefully extracting the ring box from your purse and exhaling deeply. Kneeling down in heels is an exacting task, but your dress cooperates, and you manage to not make a sound as you do.

Sighing softly, Marcus knows that this is the moment. Sure there have been thousands of proposals right here, or on the ground below, but he wants to add one more. “I need to ask you some—” Turning, Marcus stops mid word when he sees you kneeling in front of him. “—thing. What—” he can’t even ask you what is going on, eyes wide and focused on you and the small box in your hand.

"Here's the thing, Marc." You're already on the verge of tears as soon as you open your mouth, but that's okay. This is the first time you've ever done this and hopefully it will be the last, and Marcus knows that feeling all too well. "I know this is...nontraditional. And you're a traditionalist in a lot of ways. But I need to ask you something. Because for ten years, anytime something big happened in my life, the first thing I wanted to do was call you. Whenever something bad happened, I wanted to find the doorstep of whatever house you were living in and make sure that you were okay. I thought about you every single day that we were apart, and now that we're together again I just can't..." you sniffle, breaking out into a smile at the overwhelming joy in your heart. "I can't help but be excited that I won't have to call you if something good happens. Or worry about you when something goes wrong as things inevitably do in life. Because you’ll be right there with me. I love you more than anything or anyone in the world, Marcus Pike. And there is nothing more that I want than to come home to you. To share our joys and sorrows with each other and to build the life of our dreams together." The little box in your hand is slightly damp with the nervous sweat from your palm but neither of you notice, too focused on the way the lid snaps back to reveal the stunning rung that you picked out just yesterday. "Would you do me the immense honour of marrying me again?"

He stares for a moment, the shock and warmth of you proposing to him curling into his chest and making his heart burst. Choking out a laugh, a happy one, Marcus hits his knees in front of you, staring at the little blue box that he certainly recognizes. “I— can’t— of course I’m going to marry you again.” He manages, reaching for your hand and digging into his jacket pocket with the other to pull out an identical box.

With both of you crying and laughing you would have looked slightly hysterical to anyone around, but you lean forward to kiss Marcus as he digs in his jacket. Nothing else matters except the fact that he said yes, and for a moment everything in the world stands perfectly still. It isn't until you pull away again that you see him holding an identical Tiffany ring box and you burst out into another round of sobbing giggles. "Of course we both did," you laugh, pulling the platinum band out of the box in your hand to hold out to him. "Can I, love?"

“Yes.” He can’t help the giddy, bubbly laugh that rumbles out of his chest. Watching as you start to slide the band on his finger. “I can’t believe this is what you were buying yesterday.”

"You didn't buy the 'lunch with Angie' story, huh?" The ring fits him perfectly and you can't help but stare at it a little. The last time you put a ring on his finger was years ago, and as wonderful as your first wedding was, this feels so incredibly right tonight.

“I saw you.” Marcus admits with a grin, his thumb rubbing the underside of the band. “I had decided to look for your new ring.”

"You saw us?" It takes a second to refocus, but your eyes flick up to his and you reach to wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Yeah. I thought you were looking at something like a necklace or whatever.” He admits. “The associate kept bringing me rings so I didn’t have to turn around in case you saw me.”

"I was too focused. Although, the store manager now knows our entire love story." You lay kisses on both of his cheeks before you look down again, seeing the ring he's holding out to you in that same, now familiar, blue box. "Marc." The gasp that escapes you almost takes all of your breath with it. "Honey, it's absolutely gorgeous."

“I still have your other rings.” Of course he does and he’s pretty sure you know that too. “But I wanted to give you a new one, one for our new beginning.”

"Your parents will love this." As he slips that new ring onto your finger, it feels like your sense of balance has been missing that fine tuning for years. Without Marc's ring on your finger, you've been missing something this whole time. "I love you so much, baby. So much. And I can't wait to have our cat and our kids and our life full of dreams."

Marcus’s smile is full of all the love he has to give you. Bringing your hand up to press a soft kiss to the skin just above the new symbol of his commitment to you. “And tequila.” He adds, smirking at you as he reaches out to cup your face and draw you in for another kiss. “We can’t forget the tequila.”

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Agent Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x f!reader #ex wife reader #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic

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