Thatch, at least, was calming Marco down. Like he always knew what to say, when to say it, how to say it. Marco let out a breath, and went to his pocket for a cigarette. Figures. He'd stopped smoking years ago, with Grell around to soothe his nerves, he hadn't often wanted one. So he tossed Thatch a glance. "Got a smoke?"
And Ace...
Well, Ace just fired up his temper all over again. Blue eyes flashed dangerously as he considered punching Ace, kicking him, kissing him, SOMETHING to get through that thick D skull. "Freckles," a warning growl, but he used the nickname to remind his little brother that it didn't matter how angry he got, they were still tight. "Don't." He was supposed to be trusted to handle Ace's darkside, but maybe Marco couldn't. If he got violent and temperamental over the idiot's guilt, then how could Ace trust Marco enough to expose it.
Ace was even more of an idiot if he thought he could hide it, however.
"Ace... Look." He went into Thatch's pockets, took out a cigar and lit up desperately. "What Thatch said, is what I've been trying to say. You keep beating yourself up for shit that was never your fault. You're doing it now! And you have no idea what that means for the rest of us, eh? If you are even the slightest bit responsible? Then we are ten times more responsible." He pauses to chomp on the cigar and breathe. The words are tumbling out, but that doesn't mean that they're right, or they're good, or that they'll help in the least. "I can't deal with that kind of pressure."
He didn't want to live through losing everyone. His jealousy spikes even more and Marco sits down on the roof and spreads on staring up at the clouds and focusing on the smoke. "Talk to him Thatch. I can't." He wanted to be an assassin, he wanted to get revenge, to not have to fight to protect everyone and everything and fail time and time again. Because it was an impossible goal. He wanted to stop time. And this was the only place where that worked.
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And Ace...
Well, Ace just fired up his temper all over again. Blue eyes flashed dangerously as he considered punching Ace, kicking him, kissing him, SOMETHING to get through that thick D skull. "Freckles," a warning growl, but he used the nickname to remind his little brother that it didn't matter how angry he got, they were still tight. "Don't." He was supposed to be trusted to handle Ace's darkside, but maybe Marco couldn't. If he got violent and temperamental over the idiot's guilt, then how could Ace trust Marco enough to expose it.
Ace was even more of an idiot if he thought he could hide it, however.
"Ace... Look." He went into Thatch's pockets, took out a cigar and lit up desperately. "What Thatch said, is what I've been trying to say. You keep beating yourself up for shit that was never your fault. You're doing it now! And you have no idea what that means for the rest of us, eh? If you are even the slightest bit responsible? Then we are ten times more responsible." He pauses to chomp on the cigar and breathe. The words are tumbling out, but that doesn't mean that they're right, or they're good, or that they'll help in the least. "I can't deal with that kind of pressure."
He didn't want to live through losing everyone. His jealousy spikes even more and Marco sits down on the roof and spreads on staring up at the clouds and focusing on the smoke. "Talk to him Thatch. I can't." He wanted to be an assassin, he wanted to get revenge, to not have to fight to protect everyone and everything and fail time and time again. Because it was an impossible goal. He wanted to stop time. And this was the only place where that worked.