Chapter 10: Welcome Back
The gym echoed with the clank of iron and the grunt of exertion. Sunlight streamed through high, reinforced windows, cutting through the stale smell of sweat and rubber mats. At the far rack, Marcus worked with a quiet, terrifying efficiency. He was squatting a load that would have crippled a crane, the bar bending across his shoulders, muscles in his back and legs corded like steel cables. Vince spotted him, hands ready but not touching, a smirk on his face.
“Two-fifty. Easy. You’re getting soft, old man,” Vince said, stepping back as Marcus re-racked the weight with a controlled thunder.
Marcus didn’t smile, but his eyes held a faint light. “Your turn, Pyre. Let’s see what daddy strength looks like.”
Vince chuckled, moving to adjust the weights. Malik leaned against the rack nearby, polishing a non-lethal training knife with a cloth. “Daddy strength is real. It’s the strength to not lose your shit when someone spills apple juice on the new couch.”
The banter was easy, familiar. This was their space, a temporary truce from the therapy rooms and observation decks. Marcus wiped his face with a towel, his gaze drifting—as it had all morning—toward the gym’s entrance.
He saw him the moment he appeared.
Daniel stood in the doorway, dressed in simple grey sweats and a white t-shirt, a medical discharge form fluttering in his hand. He looked thinner, paler, but his eyes were clear and alert, scanning the room. The scar on his side was a hidden fist beneath the fabric.
Everything in Marcus stilled. The casual, cocky bravado of the lifting session evaporated. The Titan, who had just handled half a ton like it was plywood, suddenly looked like a man bracing for a gentle breeze.
Daniel’s eyes found his. A small, tentative smile touched Daniel’s lips.
Marcus was across the gym in what seemed like two strides, leaving Vince and Malik exchanging a glance. He stopped a foot from Daniel, close enough to shield him from the room, but not so close as to crowd him. His voice, when it came, was rougher than he intended.
“You’re supposed to be on light duty.”
“This is light duty,” Daniel said, the smile widening. “Observing. Getting some air that doesn’t smell like antiseptic.”
“You look…” Marcus trailed off, his eyes drinking in the sight of him upright, alive. Mine. The word was a primal drumbeat in his skull. “…good.”
“Liar,” Daniel said softly, but he was still smiling. “But thanks.”
From the weight rack, Vince watched the way Marcus’s shoulders curved inward, creating a private space around the smaller man. The way his head bent down to listen. It was protection, pure and simple. It was possession.
Later, by the hydration station, Vince bumped his shoulder against Marcus’s. “So.”
“So what.”
“You’re fucking obvious, is what. The big bad Titan, turned into a fucking guard dog.” Vince took a long drink, his eyes knowing. “It’s good, man. I’m happy for you. For both of you.”
Marcus grunted, wiping his mouth. “There’s no ‘both of us.’ It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, because you’re both cowards.” Vince’s voice lost its teasing edge. “Look, I torched a school once. A school. And Maria still looks at me like I hung the goddamn moon. Love isn’t about what you deserve. It’s about what you’re given. And that kid,” he nodded toward Daniel, who was now talking with Malik, “is giving you a look I haven’t seen since the ’90s. Don’t be a dumbass. Fight for it.”
On the other side of the gym, Malik was showing Daniel the balance of his practice blade. “It’s not the same,” Malik said, his voice quieter. “Losing someone to violence… it twists you. Makes you think you only get one shot at a good thing.” He met Daniel’s eyes. “You got a second shot. Don’t be polite. Don’t overthink it. The world’s on fire most days. Grab your piece of peace.”
Whitney appeared as if from a shadow, though the lights were bright. She leaned against the wall beside Daniel, her arms crossed. “Malik’s right. And I’m a witch, so I’m doubly right.” She studied Daniel’s face. “You still love him. The him from before, and the him right now.”
Daniel’s throat worked. He watched Marcus, who was listening to Vince, a deep frown on his face. “Yes,” he whispered, the admission terrifying. “But what if it’s just… damage bonding? Or nostalgia? What if he’s just protective because he feels guilty?”
“What if the sky is green?” Whitney countered. “You can ‘what if’ yourself into a coffin. You almost died. He tore apart the men who did it. That’s not therapy. That’s mythology.” She pushed off the wall. “Tell him. Tonight. Before the world decides to try and kill you again.”
Daniel felt a nervous energy spark in his chest. He nodded, a decisive, final motion. “Tonight.”
The hallway to Marcus’s private quarters was long, sterile, and silent. Daniel’s heart was a frantic bird against his ribs. He’d rehearsed a dozen speeches. Now, they were all ash.
He raised his hand and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, as if Marcus had been waiting on the other side. He was out of his training gear, in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants that did nothing to diminish his sheer scale. The harsh hall light cut across the concern on his face.
“Danny? Everything okay? Is it the wound?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Daniel’s voice was too high. He swallowed. “Can I come in?”
A flicker of surprise, then Marcus stepped back. “Yeah. Of course.”
The room was Spartan. A bed, a desk, a small shelf with a few books. It smelled like soap and him. Marcus closed the door, and the quiet became intimate, pressing in on them.
“I need to say something,” Daniel began, clenching his hands at his sides. “And I need you to just listen.”
Marcus nodded, standing perfectly still, a monument of attentive silence.
“When I was with Garrett… it was the first time I felt real in years. You were this beautiful, damaged secret, and I fell for you so hard it scared me.” Daniel’s words tumbled out, gaining speed. “Then you were gone. And it broke me. Then you were here. Titan. The man who ate a terrorist in front of me. And I was supposed to treat you. To fix you.”
He took a step closer, his eyes blazing. “But you saved me. Not as a hero. Not as a patient. You saved me as you. And Vince told you to fight for it. And Malik told me not to waste my shot. And Whitney… she basically cursed me to do this.”
“Do what?” Marcus’s voice was a low rumble.
“This.”
Daniel closed the final distance, reached up, and fisted his hands in Marcus’s shirt. He pulled him down and kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision—a release of months of longing, fear, and buried recognition. Marcus froze for a half-second, a statue coming to life. Then a sound tore from his chest, a raw, hungry thing, and his arms wrapped around Daniel, hauling him up and in until Daniel’s feet nearly left the floor.
The kiss deepened, turned consuming. Marcus licked into his mouth, tasting him like a man starved. Daniel moaned, the sound swallowed by the bigger man. His hands left Marcus’s shirt to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. The world narrowed to the heat of Marcus’s mouth, the solid wall of his chest, the iron band of his arms.
“Danny,” Marcus gasped against his lips, his breath shuddering. “You have no idea… what you do to me.”
“Show me,” Daniel panted, arching into him. “Don’t be gentle. Not tonight. I need to feel you. All of you.”
That was all the permission Marcus needed. A growl reverberated through his frame. He walked Daniel backward until his knees hit the bed, and they tumbled onto it in a tangle of limbs. Marcus loomed over him, his eyes black with need. “This is what I am,” he warned, his voice gravel. “I’m not a good man.”