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The Perk, Tuesday Afternoon

Marc had gone for a walk around the island just to get some movement in. Or that was the reason he told himself. Maybe there was other motivation but nothing he was letting near his conscious thoughts.

Before he headed back he decided to hit the Perk. Coffee for himself, stuff for back home. Not for any particular reason. Or again no reason he was telling himself. At best it was him noticing Illyana had dropped off her usual deliveries and he was feeling inspired.

Of course the replenishment of the vodka stash - which he hadn't made use of yet, just noted and moved a fresh bottle into the freezer of the mini fridge in his office - could just mean getting something for Illyana. But for whatever reason he was thinking about the other residents too.

Nothing he was examining too closely.

The problem was that Steven was the one who remembered crap like preferences and diet. Marc could ask Steven, but doing so felt like cheating. So here Marc was trying to remember.

Watts and Steven were easy, Marc knew their preferences on enough things. Illyana was chocolate donuts (you remembered when it was the person who kept you in good vodka and pastrami). Arden was... not poultry? Which Marc remembered because Watts had just done that radio about her being a bird? But was that even relevant when far as Marc knew there was no such thing as a chicken cupcake?

Yeah, got a little harder as he went down the list. Which was why he was in front of the counter, not in line yet, and studying the selection like it was a text he couldn't translate.

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Harley no longer had a hangover, woo hoo! It was but a small blessing, though, because what she did have was an insistent neck crick from sleeping funny, and a niggling feeling like she couldn't quite make herself at home at home right now. She was kind of figuring all of that would go away once she'd pick up Bruce and bring him back from the kid's place.

But that was for later. Right now, she deserved the best thing of iced coffee with multiple shots of everything nice the Perk had to offer, and that was exactly what she was there for.

Unfortunately, she made it in the door before spotting him. And, yeah, maybe it would've been awkward seeing Steven, too, but one glance was enough to tell her it definitely wasn't Steven, but him. One glance was enough for her chest and stomach to suddenly feel like maybe she was still hungover, too.

"Fuck, shit, shit, fuck," she hissed, and turned abruptly to leave the way she came --

And walked right into the door, with a great big thump and a startled little yowl for good measure.

Edited 2025-07-29 18:22 (UTC)

She could've gone in and out with Marc being oblivious. He really was trying to puzzle out the food thing. But the hit and the yell did grab his attention.

"You okay?"

And now her ego was taking a hit, too, great.

"Fine, super good," Harley said, attempting to seem collected while turning to face the room once more, one hand pressed to one side of her face, the other side kind of squinty and blinky for the moment. "Just, could one of ya --" Gesturing with her free hand to a distinctly singular barista, of course. "-- get me like a real big thing of just ice? Thanks."

"I'll go," Marc said. Though he was going to wait for her to not be near the door first. "Haven't ordered yet."

"Huh? No."

It was not her best work as far as lightly dismissive, oh-so-easygoing waves went. But hey, her vision was starting to all blend back together and actually focus.

Just maybe not on him.

"I'll just... get my ice and... fuck off."

Edited 2025-07-29 19:00 (UTC)

"Whatever you want," Marc said. He stayed where he was then, letting her move however she needed to.

Harley made her way over to the counter, trying to project 'I'm fine' the entire way, only to half-slump against it once she got there.

The barista made noises about the ice not being free. Harley gave them a one-eyed exasperated look in return.

Marc also gave a dry look at the barista. He put some cash on the counter. "I got it. Let her get what she needs."

Harley's gaze flicked to the money - well, to his hand, actually, but it stayed on the money so obviously that counted more.

"You don't hafta," she muttered, "I can take care of myself."

A lot of the cash she thought she had in her pockets was eventually going to turn out to be bottle caps and napkins, but she didn't know that, and also... Maybe there were other reasons for her putting it like that.

"I know," Marc said. He left the money where it was. It could go to her, it could go to his order if he got around to making it, maybe both. Whatever.

"Sorry," he added.

Much like the money, he was leaving that open to apply to whatever.

The barista, at least, seemed content to assume someone was going to cover the ice, and went to fill a big takeaway thing with ice.

Harley let the 'sorry' sit there, unwilling to guess what it was for. Something that didn't matter, or something that did?

"Thought maybe ya weren't in town," she admitted.

Marc shrugged a single shoulder. "I've been around."

Largely in his own home but still counted as in town he figured.

"Bike wasn't."

Probably couldn't say that and still pretend she hadn't noticed? Harley sure wanted to!

"Got rid of it," Marc said.

Possibly a harsh way to put it but oh well. Him and talking.

Well, at least it was a perfect time for the barista to hand Harley her ice? She could hold that against her cheek and the outer end of her brow, and say --

"Ouch."

She didn't mean her face, anymore.

There were a few ways he could go with this. Finally he figured fuck it, odds of him picking the right one were non-existent anyway, why bother spending time trying to guess?

"Better if I don't drive it."

The temptation to fully retreat into daydreams about purposefully totaling the Chevelle was great - but Harley persevered.

For now.

"Why? Bike didn't do nothin' wrong."

"Yeah, but I do," Marc said. Which was among the many reasons why he was keeping space between them even though they were talking. "Better folks out there for it."

He'd actually abandoned it somewhere which was possibly a little too on the nose for any metaphors to be found here.

Harley let that sink in for a second, blinking. Then she finally looked over at him. Right at him.

And asked, "What kind of a bullshit reason is that?"

She didn't sound annoyed, let alone angry. Just confused, as if he deserved better from himself.

"Damn good one," Marc replied. He tried not to let what she said affect his emotions too much. A repeat of the other day was the exact thing he was hoping to avoid. "From someone who knows."

"Didn't you like the bike?" Harley asked, her expression starting to pull a little sad again, despite her best intentions. "Always thought ya did."

"Liking something and being with something aren't always compatible," Marc replied. He wasn't too sure about going down this route. Felt too honest. But again what were the odds he'd pick the right thing to say anyway?

It made Harley look away again. Did that make it the right thing or the wrong thing? She was biting on her lip to keep it from doing any dumb twisty things.

"I guess it's your call."

If her eyes got wet, he was willing to pretend it was condensation from the big cup of ice, right?

Funnily enough Marc's mouth twitched. There was something here that was familiar. And what the hell, trying to be different hadn't gotten him anywhere so may as well do what he did best.

"Yep. Sure is."

Weird how looking away didn't actually make Harley any less aware that he was right there. Except of course with the distance he was keeping, he might as well have been on the moon.

"I liked that bike too, for what it's worth," she said, voice all small. "Which I'm sure ain't much."

"It was too dangerous for you," Marc said, before he could stop himself.

That got Harley to pause, in a manner of speaking, and then frown.

"I don't need it to be safe," she said. "I'm fine with danger, I'm Harley fuckin' Quinn for chrissakes."

Here was the thing: Marc didn't know how to do healthy. He was pretty sure these days he didn't deserve it even if he did.

But he did know fighting. And there was a certain way he preferred to do it.

"Well fuck me then," Marc said, throwing his hands up like he wasn't even going to get into it. "You've got all the answers. Great. Good for you."

Edited 2025-07-29 21:12 (UTC)

Harley seemed a little startled by it, big eyes darting back to him.

"Okay?"

She had no idea where she even stood anymore. Or what they were even talking about, if she was entirely honest.

And she looked it.

Marc realized the flaw in his current line of thinking. Fighting had too high of a risk of repeating the other day. Seeing her now, confused and physically hurt, only reminded him of how much he didn't want that to happen.

"Told you I was an asshole," he said. Not proud, not bitter, just facts.

He then turned to go. The folks at the house could get treats some other day.

"You're leaving?" came out of Harley's mouth before she had time to think better of it.

It did that sort of thing, her mouth.

"You were smart with that the first time," Marc said. But he did linger.

Harley definitely didn't feel like she had been. Not with how he'd taken it - seemed to have taken it, whichever.

"Do ya need the space?"

"Didn't even know what I was getting," Marc said. There was a gesture towards the counter but even he heard the extra layer of meaning that he hadn't intended.

"Neither did I, Marc," Harley replied. More in the realm of that extra meaning. Maybe.

She finally lowered the cup of ice from her face and added, weaker, more defeated, "Though I'm startin' to assume it's nothing."

The barista was probably hoping they were being literal about the here and now.

"Now we both do," Marc said. The baristas had cash on the counter, they could use it as tips if they needed to far as he was concerned. "What else do you want me to say?"

Forget about the lips, Harley's whole face twisted, because, hey:

"You don't like it when I tell you."

Her voice cracked a little. It made her grimace.

Marc started to say something, shook his head, and went with something else. "It's better if I'm somewhere else."

"Better for you?" Harley squeaked out, and immediately regretted it.

There was no way the answer wasn't going to hurt.

"You," Marc replied. He didn't think it was his place to say it but oh well. Continued theme that nothing he said would be the right thing. "I'm sorry. I honestly am."

... Okay, apparently maybe it could hurt in a different way.

"You don't get to decide that!" Harley snapped, much to her own surprise. Still wasn't anywhere near the loudest she could go. Still more defeated than firey. "Especially if you're usin' it to -- to dump me."

She'd tried to find different words, honest.

"Kay," Marc said. "I'm doing it because it's better for me then. That work?"

Harley hadn't been aware her shoulders had been pulling up, but they sure slumped right down now.

"Yeah," she said, but there was a shudder to it, and, yeah, she was just gonna turn back towards the counter now.

Yanno, so that if the worst happened and she started crying in public, then the baristas would be the first to see instead of him.

Marc watched her. He hated seeing her like that. But he had memories of her now that were worse. He reminded himself this was the better choice. Staying meant he'd keep hurting her. Risk scaring her again.

He turned and left, not looking back even at the sound of the door closing behind him.

Better choice for who, Spector??

Harley didn't need to look back to know he'd gone. The sound was enough. And -- shit, now she was just crying.

Just full-on sobbing at the counter, great.

(Should've left first when she'd still had the chance. Stupid.)

Edited 2025-07-30 06:21 (UTC)

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The Perk, Tuesday Afternoon

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