Chapter Text
He honestly didn't think standing in front of the door would be so stressful. His hands were sweating and he could feel the idea to run away creep in inside his brain. He took a step back suddenly, readying himself to turn and bolt despite Steven telling him to be strong. That he would be there all the way.
It was Layla, however, that took it upon herself to stop him when she laced her fingers between his and squeezed. Marc's smile was tight and she could feel his hand shake in hers. She ran her other hand across his muscled arm to help him release some tension.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly. He just turned and forced a smile on his lips. She knew him better than that, sadly for him.
After sighing loudly, he turned to the door and knocked loudly on it before he could talk himself out of it. Seconds ticked by without answer so he let go of Layla's hand and started down the stairs.
“Marc, give him time to come open the door.” Steven instructed like the voice of reason he was.
“No, no, this was a mistake, Steven. I can't do this.” He had reached the sidewalk when a door screeched open making him tense and stop in his tracks.
“Marc?” His dad's voice was how he remembered it, soothing and familiar. He could also hear the sadness and the fatigue in it. When he turned, Marc saw the dark circles under his eyes, the glasses failing to hide much of them.
“Hi, dad,” Marc whispered like a child caught in a lie or a kid in trouble. His nails began to dig into his hands to anchor him to what was happening. He couldn't run away anymore. He had to to this for himself.
Marc almost lost his balance when his father rushed to him and trapped him into a bear hug. The sobs were not concealed. The older man was crying openly while embracing the son he had only briefly seen 2 months ago and thought he had lost so many years ago.
At first, he didn't know what to do. He wasn't exactly known to be the hugging type so it's Steven that took matter into his own hands and wrapped his arms around his dad. Prayers escaped his mouth, thanking the gods for bringing his son safely, giving him the courage to knock on the door and let him embrace him again.
Marc rubbed his hands on his father's back, looking up to see Layla encourage him with a smile and loving eyes. He would need to introduce her to his dad since the wedding had been a celebration just between the two of them with a small party with the villagers where they used to live.
They had danced until their feet hurt, drank and laughed so much their stomachs ached the next day. All that lulled by the songs and sounds made by old ladies to celebrate their union. He wished his father could have been there. He also knew that would have been impossible at the time.
“I'm okay, dad.”
The man stopped hugging him to hold on to him at arms length as his eyes travelled up and down his body to check for any indications that something was wrong.
“He looks so tired,” said Steven, worry in his voice.
“How about we talk inside?” offered Marc with a small shy smile.
“Yes. I'd wager there's a lot to be said,” agreed his dad while tears ran down his face. Marc followed him and stopped when his father halted, watching Layla curiously. He had probably seen her as he opened the door but she wasn't his priority at the time.
Marc stepped in front of his dad to join Layla.
“This is Layla. My wife.”
Despite the initial shock that it must have been, the man smiled with his full teeth, putting a hand on his heart in earnest.
“A lot to be said indeed,” he chuckled as Layla greeted him.
Marc was led into the living room with Layla. They both waited as his father disappeared into what he assumed was the kitchen and he brought back a tray with cups and a teapot, along with some biscuits. He put it down on the table and smiled at his son, eyes glued on him as he sat down on the couch. From where he was sitting, Marc had a full view on a mirror where he could see Steven look at his father with kindness and fondness. When he seemed to notice that Marc was looking at him, he faced him.
“You're doing good. I'm here if you need me.” Marc nodded and smiled at him. Since they were brought back from the dead, Marc found himself being grateful for Steven and expressing it even more to him.
The rage that had been bubbling inside him was still here but had receeded to allow in the warmth that his alter often brought. Marc thanked him and turned his attention back on Elias. The man was watching him intensely, curious to know what was so fascinating about a mirror but asking nothing of it.
He offered tea to Layla and the woman gratefully accepted and began to sip it. She looked uncomfortable and Marc couldn't exactly blame her. It was also weird and awkward for him. When Elias served his son tea and offered Layla some of the powdered sugar coated biscuits. Marc's wife took one and expressed how good it tasted.
“This is very good, Mr Spector.”
“Oh, it's Elias. Please,' he said gently. “But thank you. It's not really complicated. Just almond powder, a bit of flour, egg whites and sugar. And then the dough is coated in powdered sugar and cooked for a bit. It looks undercooked but you're fine.”
Layla turned to Marc when Elias offered some to him. Marc hesitated for a second, his eyes catching Steven's before he respectfully refused.
“I'm vegan.” He actually wasn't really but he had made an effort to adjust to Steven's preferences just like he had adjusted to his. So Marc had agreed to veganism and tea (when he prefered coffee) and Steven agreed to beers and more spicy food.
“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know.” He looked like he was about to cry and Marc instantly felt bad about saying it like he should have known. It's not what he wanted.
“Dad, no. I know. We have a lot to talk about. And this is one of them. Or at least part of the biggest thing about me.”
Elias stayed silence, inviting him to continue talking whenever he was ready. Again, Marc started to play nervously with his fingers again, twisting them around and digging his nails until he could feel the skin break. Layla grabbed his hand to stop him from hurting himself.
“I'm sorry I didn't come in for mom's Shi'vah.”
That brought tears to Elias' eyes. But he remained silent, nodding to indicate he knew and understood why he didn't.
“I was in a bad place at the time and rather than asking for help... I ran away.”
That seemed to snap Elias out of his silence. “Marc, son. No. You didn't run away. I did. I couldn't help you or your mom. And I'm sorry.”
“I have been running, dad. Longer than you think,” he said, looking in the mirror. Tears were streaming down Steven's face.
“Are you sure you want to tell him?” he inquired.
“He's as much your father as he is mine,” he said out loud, surprising Layla. She squeezed his hand just as Elias turned to look at the mirror confused.
“Is Steven okay?” Layla asked, and Marc just nodded.
“Who's Steven?” he was expecting the question, but it still made Marc flinch and that didn't escape the British man.
“You don't have to say anything.” Marc knew Steven would gladly sacrifice his own happiness to make Marc comfortable but for once, he was going to put Steven first.
“The one that saved me,” Marc finally confessed, looking at his father but still seeing Steven's reflection in his cup of tea.
“Back when I was twelve,” he started, “you left the room after getting the cake. I don't remember why. Mom was already on her fourth glass and she said some things that got me upset. I ran to my room. And she followed. You only got to see the aftermath, but you didn't see what happened to me. And she didn't either.”
“Son...,” he choked out before getting interrupted by Marc.
“No. I'm not blaming you. Never. You did the best you could. But I need to say this.”
Marc swallowed the lump stuck in his throat after Layla rubbed his back in comfort and most likely to encourage him to continue in his own time.
“So, I locked myself in my room and mom tried to get in. Got mad realizing that the door was locked and started pounding on it and yelling. I couldn't deal with it. She broke something in me that day. So I escaped the only way I could.”
He expected his father to ask what he meant but his only answers were sobs and he couldn't bring himself to look up to see his father cry. So Marc just continued to stare at his hands holding Layla's.
“Steven was born so I could survive. He saved me. I escaped and survived because he was there.”
“I... I don't understand.” Confusion was the normal reaction but to be perfectly honest, Marc barely knew how to explain it so that his father would believe it. Layla urged him to look at her, a silent question dancing in her eyes. No. Not a question. She was asking for permission.
Marc agreed.
“People with traumatic memories and who suffered traumatic events can sometimes create coping mechanisms to overcome the trauma. In Marc's case, he developed dissociative identity disorder.”
Elias furrowed his brows, trying to piece together the story like one would try to solve a puzzle.
“To escape from a traumatic reality,” she began, using simpler terms, “Marc created an alter. Another personality that would front, or take over, when things would be too difficult for him to handle. His name is Steven. With a V.”
Marc's father looked between Layla and his son, uncertain on who he should focus on, but Marc was still not watching him.
“You suffered so much and I had no idea.” A tear escaped Marc's right eye. “But I'm glad you had someone you could count on.”
Marc raised his head and stared at his dad with blurry eyes. Even Steven was an emotional mess.
“Is that why you keep looking at the mirror? You can see him?”
“Yes. Through any reflections actually,” Marc informed Elias. “We've been able to communicate easier now that both of us have accepted the situation. He's the one that's vegan by the way. Fucking hate what he eats but it's a small sacrifice for the things he's done I guess.”
“Tosser,” insulted Steven, making the Marc choke on a laugh under his father watchful eyes.
“He just insulted you, didn't he?” inquired Layla.
“Called me a tosser.”
“He's British?”
Marc nodded again, “I would have asked for a coffee instead of the tea otherwise. But he thinks coffee makes me on edge. Which is not completely wrong but you know.” He waved dismissively.
Then his father surprised him. “Can I meet him?”
“You want to meet Steven?”
“Well... he's my son too. I'd like to get to know him too. If that's okay with you both.”
Marc knew that Steven was okay with it before he even looked at his reflection, so when he let him front and Layla felt her husband's body relax under her palms, she knew the switch had already been done.
“Here, give me the cup, Steven.” Afraid he might spill the content because he wasn't exactly known for his dexterity as opposed to Marc, she took it from his hand as he smiled at her innocently. She saw her father-in-law straighten his back and raising his eyebrows at the quick change but didn't comment on it.
“Steven?”
“Hello,” he greeted him with a small wave, dragging the end vowel like he usually would.
Elias chuckled and they began talking, Layla watching with love, thankful of how far he had come.