Phoenix tied her bathrobe around her waist and stretched her arms as she walked into the kitchen. It was early in the morning, but Marc was already awake. He was sitting on her couch with the remote in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He was watching sports and was completely focused on the game. Phoenix made herself a cup of coffee, and while the machine was working, she leaned against the counter. Phoenix crossed her arms against her chest and allowed her eyes to wander around. Quickly enough, they found their way back to Marc, who was enjoying himself. He heard the machine, turned his head to look at the honey-haired teacher, and smiled.
"Hello, gorgeous. I did not want to wake you up, so I slipped away as silently as possible."
"Hello, mon coeur." -She said with sleepy eyes and waved at him- "It's okay. I needed to sleep longer today after the week I had." -She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned a bit harder against the counter- "Who's playing?"
"Red Wings vs Tampa Bay Lightning. Hey, when your coffee is ready, why don't you come here and watch the game?" -She had already watched a few games with him, so Marc believed it would not be an issue if he asked her directly to join him. She smiled at him and nodded. "Good. Come whenever..." He waved at her and returned to watching the game.
Nix was comfortable there. In her kitchen, with the pleasant smell of brewing coffee and the sound of TV mixed with Marc's comments on the game. She was right where she wanted to be. Her blue eyes set upon his frame, and she smiled softly. She could feel her heart beat harder against her ribcage and felt blood rush to her cheeks as she was blushing. Why did it take her two years to talk to that man again? God only knew because Phoenix had no idea why it took her so long. Marc was not like all the men she met since she moved to Detroit. He was honest and kind. He was reliable. She always knew that no matter what happened, she could always rely on Marc. He would do his best to be there and protect her. The idea of being protected, so foreign at the start of their relationship, quickly helped her find a soft sleep. It helped her lower her guard and fully give in to him. Someone was looking after her.
After decades spent in pain and darkness in the Guild, someone finally saw her. The real her. The soft romantic soul underneath all of that darkness. The real her who needed the world to be soft and safe. The real her who wanted to be held and to feel the warmth of another soul. Marc trusted her. He gave her his heart. He knew that it made him vulnerable, but he trusted her to take care of it. Phoenix realized that Marc's love opened her up to the idea that her hands, sharpened blades meant for killing, were also capable of nurturing. She was capable of nurturing. Her heart was not blackened and unredeemable. Phoenix was still able to love and protect others. Marc made her realize that she needed more from life than just surviving. She wanted more than just to torment herself and punish herself for choices that were made for her.
Marc was safe. Marc was comfortable. Marc was home. It was easy to love him. Easy to be loved by him. Marc was like a sunny Sunday afternoon with a fresh breeze. He was like Dawn, when the sun is rising, and the world is quiet. When there is nothing in the world but the two of them. She blushed harder and felt her heart skip several beats as love was almost choking her. With Marc, there were no mind games. No disrespect. He never judged her or looked down on her when she did not know something or had never experienced it. He did not laugh when she asked him to pick a birthday for her because she wanted to be born on a day he thought suited her best. He did not laugh when he saw the scars on her back, nor did he recoil like she expected him to. He did not laugh when she told him that the first man she fell in love with would rather fake his own death than respect her enough to break up with her.
He never judged her blue eyes, so odd for an African woman, nor did he make fun of her tooth gap. Elements that made her who she was, and she refused to change. He welcomed her need for affection; he welcomed her desire to give him that affection. He would wrap his arms around her frame like a safe and soft blanket to protect her from the coldness of the world. Deep down, a part of her regretted not knowing her real name so she could hear Marc call her with his beautiful voice. A part of her wished she was not an assassin so she could confide in him and tell him all of her secrets. Yet, she was also grateful for that clean slate. Yes! She was grateful for being able to finally break free from the mold she was raised in. She could be herself. She could reclaim her name. Phoenix was no longer an alias but a bona fide name... identity, the one that suited the woman who escaped her abusers and former employers. A woman who was reborn through the cleansing fire of Love. Most of her soul was happy he got to meet the real Phoenix.
Marc was genuine and spontaneous. Phoenix did not know what she did to be lucky, but she was. He would romance her with a homemade dinner, would take her out, would treat her like a proper innocent woman. He would love her- He loved her- she knew he did. She knew it because he said he was not yet there after her Big L incident. Her lips formed the letters, but no sound escaped her mouth when she mouthed "I love you." To the man who was turning his back on her. She loved him. All of him. Including the darkest parts of his soul. Nix knew, instantly, so when she walked into his apartment. He was as traumatized as she was by the violence he witnessed and had to dish out to others. He was a soldier, and she knew just how deeply it ate at your soul to participate in such activities. She knew he experienced violence at the hands of the one person who should have protected him.
Marc knew what it was to feel helpless while growing up. He knew what it was to both be scared and yet still hope that everything would be better, that his caretaker would end up loving him and stop hitting him. Marc knew what it was to stop believing after a while because the person never changed, and instead grew increasingly more violent towards you. He witnessed it. He experienced it too. She could relate to it. To the violence and helplessness. She could relate to the anger and the desire to get revenge on this person and then feel that the only way to escape that was to run away (in her case, lose herself in her missions). he knew pain when he was still at a tender age and should have known love. Sometimes when he was upset or angry, he would shut down completely, and it would take a while for her to bring him back. Sometimes he would panic, especially when he would worry he did something wrong or something that could jeopardize their relationship, and she would do her best to reassure him. Every single time.
She heard stories. of what he did during the war and his nickname. She knew he saw the deepest pit the human soul could dig, where despair thrived, where humanity died. Yet despite all of this, Marc remained a gentle soul deep inside. Despite all of this, he was the light in her darkness. The rock to her turbulent sea... The love of her life. Here, in this little apartment, Phoenix felt like a million bucks. She felt like she won at life because she met her soul mate. The noise of the coffee machine tore her from her thoughts, and she grabbed her cup, walked towards the couch, bent forward to give a kiss to Marc, and sat next to him. He smiled at the teacher and gently rubbed his arm against hers before he resumed watching the game. He was rich in life because she was there.
They both were.
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