To your utter surprise you become friends with both of them. With Marie you already were a friend, even hoping to be something more, but it’s the Drake that takes you by surprise. He’s actually a good man. Still child, a boy in so many ways, but rapidly turning to strong, confident man capable of tackling with the horrid mess of living in a world filled of hatred and violence. Capable of taking care of Marie and her every need, and even when you know there’s more in him than he’s ready to reveal to anybody you let it slide because he’s in love with her, and if he occasionally keeps staring little too long after good looking men, or even you, you let it slide because he loves Marie and Marie loves him, and you and Drake both know that if he steps out of line you’ll make him pay for it dearly.
First year goes by fast. Soon there’s talk about wedding. Mansion’s whirring with rumors for months beforehand, and you’re grateful for it because they seem to forget you, even Storm concentrates to humungous task of getting the government to revoke the Registration act and finally you get some room to breathe and just be yourself.
At one point you realize you spend even more time with Drake than Marie. It doesn’t matter. Drake’s a decent drinking buddy, maybe weak from the head when raw booze steps in to picture, but compared to you anybody’s weak. And if Drake keeps touching you, slapping your back and his hand lingering on your arm little longer than it’s absolutely necessary, you let it slide because he’s Marie’s just like you are, and you both know you wouldn’t cross that line no matter what.
“Just remember one thing, Ice Prick. I’ll chop it off and let you bleed to death if you hurt her.”
You both laugh, drunken giggles and chuckles, then Drake looks at you, completely serious and deathly sober regardless of the vast amount of booze he has consumed. Really looks at you, straight in the eyes, and grabs your collar, yanking you face to face with him, and for a moment you’re afraid he’s going to try and kiss you. His icy breath tickles your lips when he leans closer.
“Just remember one thing, Beast Boy. Keep your paws off from my girl, or I’ll freeze it and we get to see if it’ll ever grow back.”
That night you don’t laugh anymore. Not like you used to laugh, but Drake has gotten more points under his belt. You know he’s good for his threat. He’d do it, no matter if it would work, but he’d do it anyway, then maim you for good, and you make a decision then and there, his face still hovering close to yours. It’s him and Marie before you. Him before you. Anything and anybody will have to get through you first to get to him, that’s how it’s been with Marie, that’s how it’ll be with Drake, that’s how it’ll be with both of them.
Decision is easy to keep during following months out in the field where the battle rages and the blood is shed. You take the blows directed at them, suffer wounds you know Drake wouldn’t survive and bleed for them because they’re good for each other, and them being there still keeps you sane. And just because she’s Marie, you’re hers and anything that belongs to her is sacred and Bobby belongs to her as well.
Then comes the wedding day. You’re not the Best Man. Drake’s brother gets the honor. Lame attempt to try to patch up frayed relations with his family. You don’t mind, but Drake pulls you aside just little before the ceremony, pulls you to the men’s room and you stand next to him at the urinal when he tells you that he’d much rather taken you standing beside him and Marie than his brother. And you feel a little like crying, because now your nose confirms what you have been suspecting for weeks already. Stench of sickness wafting from the urinal. You’re not trained in medicine, but you know something, little tidbits, and you’re nose is telling you that the man standing next to you won’t live much longer anymore. And it’s not fair. And there’s nothing you can do about it. And it’ll tear Marie apart. It’ll tear you apart.
“Drake…”
You put your hand on his shoulder, and you know, you just know that Drake already knows, and there’s no reason to say it out loud.
“Just take care of her after… After I’m gone. Okay?”
And you don’t see the ceremony. You hide in the bathroom, slide out through the tiny window placed to the furthest stall and get utterly wasted at the nearest bar, scaring the bartender and few customers who happen to know you by bursting to hysterics while downing your sixth whiskey.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Yep. One more to go after this and then it's back to War. If you hate Bobby Drake, don't bother to read this.