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Title: I Could Find My Way Back (Marcus Pike/f!Reader)

Rating: Mature

Word count: 3590

Warnings: Discussions of sexual assault (non-detailed and non-graphic). Swearing. Brief descriptions of kissing/making out. Reader is unnamed; Marcus (and other characters) uses nicknames (i.e.: “Sunny”, “sweetheart”, “chica”). Reader identifies as female but is otherwise unspecific and undescribed.

Notes: In the interest of standing by my belief that fiction can be used to Work Through It, this is a very personal one. And as such, it is maybe not applicable to everyone, but I attempted to approach it with respect and kindness and I hope it rings true enough for someone else.

Dedicated to @ladamedusoif… Thank you. 💜

(Dividers by @saradika-graphics)

The last time you saw Marcus, you were both eighteen, both stupid kids in love but with no idea how to handle it. You’d been preparing for your trip west for college; he was headed south. Daily phone calls turned into weekly letters, into bi-monthly check-ins, into Christmas and birthday cards.

You lost touch soon before it happened, and in more than one therapy session you’d openly wondered if that was to blame for your stupid choices. (Your doctor insisted that was normal but very, very untrue.)

And, nearly twenty-five years later, when you walk into the bar and hear a familiar, long-ago guffaw, your heart skips a beat and your breath catches in your throat.

The laugh causes him to toss his head back, and as he lifts it to normal height again, his eyes slide past you — and then back to you.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Despite your nostalgic shock, you grin brightly. “Heya, Marc.”

He’s off his stool and wrapped around you before you can say any more. “Jesus, Sunny, are you real?” he murmurs against your ear. “I’ve only had two beers so you have to be.”

“I’m real, Marcus,” you giggle, hugging him back. His patchy facial hair is thicker than when he was a stubbly kid, his hair a little longer, a little curlier, and a little greyer, but deep in the recesses of your memory he smells and feels and energizes the exact same as your high school sweetheart. The fact that he immediately falls back on your nickname from the old days makes the nostalgia even stronger.

His friends all but abandoned at the bar after a quick explanation, the two of you settle at a small table towards the back of the pub, Marcus’ beer now sitting opposite your Jack and Coke.

“I’m guessing you’re back for the reunion?” he asks, his thumb and index finger stroking and pulling lightly on your pinky.

It’s as if no time has passed, the comfort is so easy.

You nod, taking a sip of your slightly-too-strong drink. “Yeah. Wasn’t gonna, but had some…unexpected time off work,” you explain. (He doesn’t need to know that you were forced into taking your two-week vacation because your entire department was worried you were about five minutes from a burnout breakdown.) “Figured it couldn’t hurt to come back and see some folks.”

“Like me?” His voice is airy, teasing.

“No. Like Kevin.”

Marcus groans. “Oh, god, he’s gonna try to steal you away from me again, just like in school.”

You laugh. “Isn’t he married now?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “A really nice woman named Lily. Never thought Kev would be the settling down kind, but they’re happy. Expecting a little boy soon, too.”

You remember something else you’d heard. “You’re married, too, no?”

“No,” he replies, and the sadness passes quickly. “I was, for a little while. It didn’t work out so I’m on my own again.”

“I’m sorry, Marc. That sucks.”

“Mm, it’s alright. I’ve moved on.” Marcus takes a swig of his drink and eyes you. “What about you? Husband? Boyfriend? Kids?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “None of the above.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Marcus!”

“Just checking.” He grins, eyes sparkling. “Has it been a long time?”

Pretty much since right after you, you think. But this isn’t the time.

“A while, yeah.”

He takes another mouthful. “A shame,” he mutters when he can speak again.

You almost think you misheard.

“So that settles it. You’re my date to the reunion.”

“What?”

Marcus pinches the skin of your hand. “You heard me. You and me, just like old times. That sound okay?”

You feel like you don’t have much of a choice, but you’re also pretty okay with that. “Uh, yeah. Sure, I guess?”

“Good. Where are you staying?”

You give him the address of the Airbnb you’re in, and he nods. “Alright. I’ll pick you up at five tomorrow, okay?”

“Y-yeah, okay.”

He finishes his beer, then watches — somewhat impressed — as you down the remainder of your own drink. “I’m really glad you’re back, Sunny.”

“Me, too, Marc.”

You aren’t lying.

After several different outfit choices, you’re finally settled and smoothing your striped sweater over the top of your slim black pants, your shoes cute but practical for a night that’ll probably involve far more standing than sitting. You fix your hair quickly as you hear the beep of the horn outside, and grab your phone and purse before running out and locking the door behind you.

Marcus isn’t dressed that much differently than he was at the bar, though now his button down is secured under a blue polka-dotted tie and his jeans have been replaced with a pair of grey slacks. He’s also combed his hair a bit more neatly, though the breeze blowing through the truck’s window has some softly-curly strands falling over his forehead.

You step up to the driver’s seat and rest an elbow on the frame as you lean in to kiss his cheek. “You ready for this? We can still skip out if you want.”

He smiles. “How about we go, and if, after an hour, it’s boring as shit, we sneak out and go to Johnny’s instead?”

It’s the same plan as when you were in school. Johnny’s is the diner on the edge of town — you were shocked to see it was still open when your cab passed it on the way in — and the best place to be a little private and a lot out of the way. You and Marcus had always had a code: if you were at a party or an event or a school thing and you wanted out, it was as simple as a little, “Hey, aren’t we supposed to meet John?” and you knew it was time to go.

“Sounds like a plan,” you reply, winking as you walk around the front of the truck and climbing into the passenger’s seat beside him.

The drive to the high school isn’t long, and the silence between you — punctuated by Springsteen’s greatest hits — is light and breezy. Marcus has always been a careful driver, and you’re happy enough to just watch the old haunts go by out your window as you both breathe-sing to “Thunder Road”.

When he parks in the lot, he’s actually at your door before you can get out, and he offers his arm. “C’mon, just like when we were kids,” he reminds you. You roll your eyes but accept, your hand gripping his bicep as you head into the gymnasium.

“Pike, that cannot be who I think it is!”

You’d recognize Kevin Garcia’s voice anywhere. Marcus’s best friend since childhood, he’s always been loud and boisterous and probably a little more trouble than anyone should be, but you’d always really liked him like a brother.

“Kev, be nice,” Marcus warns, but it’s too late — Kevin has you up in his strong arms, spinning you despite the height and weight you have on him.

“Holy shit, chica, you’re prettier than you were in high school.”

You roll your eyes, hiding your embarrassment. “Could say the same, Kev.” He’s gorgeous — chiseled from marble, you and your girlfriends had always joked. His brown eyes are lighter than Marcus’, but just as easy to lose yourself in; his features are gruffer; his hair more tightly curled. If you hadn’t been spoken for all through high school you might have given him a fair shot. (His friendship with Marcus hadn’t stopped the occasional flirtation from him, anyway.)

Kevin introduces you to Lily, a statuesque redhead with more freckles than you’ve ever seen and a belly that seems to threaten to topple her with one wrong move. Kevin’s palm stays right on it, cautious and protective the whole time the four of you talk, and you can’t help but smile.

You break away from the Garcias after a bit, promising to catch up more before you head home, and you find yourself heading to the catering tables while Marcus stops to chat with a group of people you don’t know very well.

“Hey, you.”

You freeze in place as you’re filling your plate, your blood running cold. Despite every single instinct in your entire being telling you to just drop it and run, you don’t — instead you take a single, deep breath and look up.

It can’t be him. It can’t. Last you’d heard from your lawyers, he had moved out to Arkansas once he was released, and you’d figured that was the end of it.

But it is him. The same sharp, ice-blue eyes. The same swoop of auburn hair, though artificial now.

That same shark-toothed grin.

“I… I’ve gotta — ” The words don’t come, but you run, your plate finally discarded on the table.

You hear him calling out for you but you refuse to turn, your heart pounding in your ears as you desperately look for Marcus.

“Hey, hey, slow down.” It’s Kevin’s voice, his hand on your arm gently. “You alright?”

“I — I need to find Marcus,” you breathe, and you’re annoyed to realize there are tears clogging your throat. “Have you seen him?”

Kevin gestures over his shoulder. “Back by the hoop talking to one of the teachers,” he said. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You wish you could answer but you’re just not ready. Instead, you fake a smile and hurry off, leaving him confused as you beeline towards Marcus.

“John just called,” you manage as soon as you’re in earshot. Marcus turns to you, eyebrow lifted, but when he sees your expression, he adjusts. “We’ve gotta go.”

“Okay.” There’s no question. He says his goodbye to Mr. Williams, his arm snaking around your waist. You know you’re shaking, you can feel it yourself, but you hope he won’t ask — at least, not now. With a little wave to Kevin and Lily who are not far from the door you’re headed towards, you keep close to Marcus’ body and keep your head down.

He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t say a word until you’re in the car and about fifteen blocks from the school. It’s only then that he pulls into the empty parking lot of a local bank and puts the car in park.

“Hey. Sunny, are you okay? What happened? What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing, it’s…”

You lose control when his hand comes to rest on your knee. Two decades of tears stream from your eyes as you gasp for air, and Marcus jumps out of the car to come to your door and pull you into his arms. You’re still in your seat, but tucked tightly against his chest, your body racked with sobs and your chest burning as you struggle to regain control.

To his credit, Marcus doesn’t push. He holds you, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other stroking gentle lines up your back. You know you’re staining his sweater with your tears, but he gives no indication that it bothers him. Instead, he murmurs in your ear, “It’s alright, it’s okay” over and over.

“I — ” You try to speak, and it’s difficult, but you know you need to get the words out. “I can’t — I can’t tell you here,” you finally manage. “Someone might hear.”

There’s some kind of fear in Marcus’ eyes when he pulls back to meet yours. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Alright. Do you want to go back to the apartment, or do you want to come to mine?”

An irrational thought comes into your head: What if he knows where I’m staying?

“Can we go to yours?”

“Of course.” He brushes your cheeks with his palms. “Are you okay? Do you want to wait a few more minutes?”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t want to… I want to get out of here.”

Marcus smiles comfortingly and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you, Sunny.”

It isn’t until you’re settled on the couch, your still-shaking hands wrapped around a mug of tea, that Marcus joins you, his dark eyes soft and concerned.

“Do you want to talk?”

You nod, and Marcus shifts closer, his knee bumping against yours as he rests an arm across the back of the sofa, right along your shoulders.

“I was at the catering table,” you start. “And Mr. Mason came up to me.”

“The chemistry teacher?”

You nod. Marcus doesn’t pry, letting you tell the story on your own time, but his thumb strokes over the back of your neck gently.

“Everyone knows he was a bit of a weirdo, right?”

“I never had him as a teacher, but yeah, I heard he was a little…off.”

You take a deep breath. “He wasn’t just off, Marc.” A pause. “After we graduated, I ran into him at the movies one night. My friends wanted to go to a club after, and I didn’t, so Mr. Mason offered to drive me home.”

Your heart is racing, and you’re not sure the words will come out, but you close your eyes and force them past your lips. “We never made it to my house. He…he raped me and left me on the street a mile from home.”

When you manage to look up again, Marcus’ handsome face is white with rage. His hand has stilled behind you, his thumb against the bend of your shoulder.

“And he just…showed up today?” There’s something new to his voice, something dark and sinister in it. You’re moved to put your cup down and press your palms to his thigh.

“He went to jail for five years,” you explain. “It was a miracle he even got that.” This part feels easier, somehow. “They tried to…say it was my fault, that I’d enticed him. But he had bruises from where I fought back. It was enough, I guess.” You sigh. “When he got out, my lawyers told me they said he’d been…rehabilitated. He registered and moved away. I…didn’t think I’d ever see him again, but today… He was right there. Marc, I could feel him, he was so close.”

You can feel his body trembling under your hands, and you wonder if telling him was the right thing to do. Marcus is in the FBI. You’ve known this for years, been aware of his career, and telling him about your assault and the fact that the man who did it is still around might not be the best move on your part. He may be your sweet, kind, loving friend — but he’s also a trained law enforcement agent.

“Did he touch you tonight?”

You’re startled back to the moment. “N-no. He just said hi, really casual. I couldn’t even reply. I panicked and ran to you.”

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

You tighten your fingers on his leg, shaking your head viciously. “No. Marcus, no. I don’t even know if he wanted anything other than to say hi…”

“He has no right!” He pushes off the couch, away from you. “He hurt you. And then he gets to come back and pretend he’s just your old teacher? Who the hell let him back into that school?”

You can feel tears pricking at your eyelashes again and you drop your hands into your own lap. “It’s been twenty-four years, Marc,” you whisper. “He’s been out longer than he was in. It doesn’t mean much to anyone anymore, so long as he’s not back to teaching. I’m an adult — they can’t legally make him stay away from me after all this time, not unless he does something again.”

“This is insane,” Marcus roars. “I’m going back. I’m going to confront him.”

“Marcus, no.” You climb to your feet, this time catching his face in your hands. “I wanted you to know but I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

“He hurt you, Sunny,” he says, gripping your forearms lightly. “Shit, I should have taken you with me when I left that summer.”

“It’s not your fault,” you reply. “Or mine. Legally, he got his punishment. It doesn’t matter how I feel about it now — he’s done his time.”

“But you…”

“I survived, Marc,” you say, the tears falling again. “It’s been hell, but I’m here. And I found you again, so that tells me I did something right.”

“I should have stayed with you. Or taken you with me,” he repeats, and you see his eyes shimmering just the same. “I wish I’d have been here to protect you.”

“You protected me tonight, Marc.” You take a tiny step closer, your body up against his. “God, I’m sorry. I should never have told you.” Letting your hands fall slack, they end up on his shoulders as you press your forehead to his chest. “It’s not on you, at all. I just… I don’t know why, but I needed you to know. Selfishly.”

You feel Marcus’ arms slip around you, careful, like you’re made of porcelain. His lips press to the top of your head, his breath shaky as he holds you again. “Not selfish,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you after. I’m sorry you’re still so scared now.” He tightens his grip, just a little. “I never stopped loving you,” he admits, and your heart skips several beats. “And now I wish I’d have told you that before, because maybe things would have been different.”

You lift your eyes to meet his again, and his face is so stained with tears your own threaten to increase tenfold. “I’m sad you left, but I’m glad you didn’t know me right after,” you say honestly. “I wish no one did.”

“And now?”

You sigh, bringing a hand to your face to wipe your cheeks. “Not perfect, but getting better.”

Marcus’ fingers flex against your spine. “Could say the same about me, in some ways.” You giggle despite yourself, and he closes his eyes. “Sorry. Very different scenarios.”

“Don’t apologize.” You drag a line over his collarbone with your fingertips. “What a fucking pair we are, huh?”

His lips quirk a bit. “Chaos as always,” he replies. He lifts your right hand, pressing his lips to your palm. “Do you want to go back? I won’t leave your side for a moment.”

You shake your head. “No. I’m sorry to miss seeing people, and we’ll have to call Kevin and apologize, but I can’t go back there, Marc.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

“I need you to stop saying sorry,” you urge. “And I need one more thing from you.”

“What’s that?”

You smile softly for the first time in hours; you know, for the first time since leaving the reunion, that it isn’t the trauma speaking. “Kiss me.”

Shock crosses Marcus’ features, but they’re gone almost instantly and instead, he leans in and captures your mouth with his own, his fingers tilting your chin up to give him better access. In the moment, nothing matters anymore — the past, the trauma, the fear and the pain is all gone as the present takes control and your body reacts to Marcus, back in your arms where he belongs and holding you like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You wake to the sunlight on your face and the feel of Marcus’ arm around your waist, his breath against your forehead. You’d spent the rest of the night making up for lost time, the conversation between kisses moving from careers to families to life in general. You’d fallen asleep first, barely waking up when Marcus helped you from the couch to his bed, only just aware enough to curl into him as he climbed in behind you.

Peeling yourself out of his grip, you slip out of his bed and down the hallway to the bathroom. In the mirror’s reflection, you see your eyes are still somewhat puffy from crying; your lips are slightly chapped from Marcus’ facial hair. Your makeup is smudged and you groan, grabbing the bar soap on the sink to wash your face best as you can, grateful when you spot a bottle of lotion that will at least somewhat make up for the harsh scrub.

Your sweater smells a bit stale, and you slip it off, grateful for the black tank you’d worn underneath it. You peek into Marcus’ medicine cabinet and find his deodorant, using just enough to make yourself feel just a little better and revelling in the spicy scent you know from him now on your own skin.

When you get back to the bedroom, Marcus is stretching, his eyes bleary as he looks down the bed towards you. “I thought you’d left,” he says, his voice thick with sleep.

You climb in beside him again, sliding your arms around him and pressing a kiss to his patchy beard. “I wouldn’t do that,” you reply. “Not without telling you.”

He strokes a line along your cheek. “Do you wanna get breakfast at Johnny’s before I take you back to your Airbnb?”

“Mm, that’d be nice,” you reply. I don’t want to go back, though. I want to stay here.

As if he can read your mind, he smiles. “You can bring stuff here if you wanna stay a few more days. I’ll pay off your room fees.” He kisses your nose. “Actually, I’d really like it if you would stay.”

“I think I’d like that too.” You hold his gaze. “Marc?”

“Mm?”

“I’m glad I came home.”

He grins, this time kissing you deeply. “Me, too, Sunny. Me, too.”

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