title: All I Need
rating: PG-13 ((for sexual innuendo))
disclaimer: It's all JKR's. I own nothing, I promise... well, that is, I own the people you don't recognise. Which would be, uh, Adrian, Zachary, Mathias, Rebeckah,and Cassius. *cough* So most of the characters, then. Lyrics belong to the eternal genius of Matchbox Twenty. *g*.
pairing: Katie Bell/Marcus Flint
AN: This was, for reasons that escape me, originally published as a BtVS/HP crossover. I believe it has something to do with me giving my beautiful twin sister my TtH password once, under the impression she would use it for good. She didn’t. Instead, she shortened the story and changed the names ((amongst other things)) and published the piece – without my knowledge. It was only recently brought to my attention, and I removed it, and here it is, in its original Katie/Marcus disgustingly fluffy glory.
AN2: This is a one-shot, but it could be a series. Tell me whether you think it worth continuing or not.~*~
just stay all through the night
in the morning let me down
cause that's all that i need right now
and that's all that i need, yeah
someone else to cling to, yeah
someone i can lean on
Her eyelids flutter open lazily, and she turns her head over on the pillow, stretching her body out like a cat. The other side of the bed is cold, and she jerks her leg back to the warmth around her. She rolls over onto her side, pulling the blankets up around her shoulders as she surveys the other, vacant, half of the bed. The sheets are rumpled, the covers still moulded in the shape of a figure that left before dawn broke, and she slides over, filling the space, braving the cold to pull the shape of him around her.
It’s moments like these that make her realise how special the small, everyday moments really are. How much she takes them for granted, despite her many resolutions to the contrary. It’s the little things about him she finds she misses the most -- the things he often doesn’t know he’s doing. Like watching that small, lazy smile spread across his face during that period between wakefulness and oblivion, or waking in the middle of the night to find him spooned tightly around her. It’s a protective gesture, she’s sure, but it’s more than that. Maybe it’s those years he spent alone, or all the times they’ve been forced apart during their marriage, but Marcus instinctively clutches her to him in his sleep, almost like he’s trying to anchor her to him forever, like he’s trying to stay exactly where he is, for as long as humanly possible, before he gets called away again.
Merlin help her, she loves him. She knows, even after all these years, that there are so many reasons she shouldn’t, but she does. After all, if she didn’t do it, who else would handle his snarky bad temper? Besides, Katherine Flint sounds a lot better than anything else she knows. And with that thought, she scoots further over to his side of the bed, where she usually sleeps anyway. His scent surrounds her as she burrows further into the pillow and covers, and she breathes it in as deep as she can. It’s almost like she’s trying to take a part of him into her -- which, in a way, she is.
Sometimes, doing that makes it hurt less, makes his absence less real. But not today. Maybe it’s just her hormones, but today it hurts so much it almost causes physical pain. At least she can take some comfort from the knowledge that she’s not the only one who’s hurting.
Enter, case in point.
Katie rolls onto her back and pokes her head out from under the mountains of blankets ((Marcus is big on creature comforts)), half smiling at her fourth child and only daughter. She doesn’t say anything, just pushes off from the doorframe and launches herself onto the bed -- although a safe distance from its sole occupant -- before scrambling to get under the covers. Katie scoots backwards and she follows, settling herself around her mother carefully.
She and Marcus are incredibly close ((almost to the point of jealousy on Katie’s part, as pointless and unfounded as it may be)), and she misses him terribly when he’s gone, becomes even quieter. Considering she’s inherited ((or developed)) her father’s mostly taciturn demeanour, this means she hardly ever talks, and when she does, it’s in Snape-like monosyllables. Katie’s beginning to think that the combined influence of father and godfather-slash-surrogate-grandfather is entirely too Slytherin and reticent for her liking. She loves her daughter to pieces, sometimes all the more for how like her father she is, but at other times Katie wishes that she and Beckah could just... talk, the way Katie always did with her own mother.
Beckah lets out a little noise, somewhere between a whine and a sigh, and Katie smiles slightly at her need for contact. Marcus is the same, always needing to be touched. When they were first together, she thought touching him all the time would make him think she was coddling him, and he’d seemed like a man who didn’t need or want to be touched, but now she realises that he needs it as much as she does – if not more, due to the lack of it throughout most of his life -- and, apparently, as much as their daughter does. She draws Beckah as close as she can and runs a hand through her hair. It’s thick and heavy, straight like hers, but Marcus’ beautiful rich dark colour. Her seven-year-old ((“Almost eight!”
)) sighs again, snuggling a little closer and burying her nose in Katie’s nightgown -- one of Marcus’ dress shirts.
“I know sweetie, I know,” she mumbles softly, rubbing her back
“Not long. A few days, max.”
“A few days? But – "
“Rebeckah, you know he’d never miss your birthday, or
Christmas. Besides, he gave me his word. And your father always
keeps his word.” Katie can feel Beckah breathe deeply beside her, obviously preparing to broach an uncomfortable subject.
“Adrian said you two had a fight last night.”
Damn it. She keeps forgetting to plug up that vent -- not that it would make much difference, really. Adrian’s room is close enough to their’s that he must hear the yells ((and other noises)) quite clearly. She sighs, thinking how to best phrase her answer.
“Nothing major sweetie, promise. I just… well, I hate it whenever he goes, and it’s no different this time. If anything, it’s worse. I… I love him, and I worry. A lot."
“I know. You don’t eat, you just make us.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but closes it when she realises her daughter’s right. Marcus’ food just seems to taste better.
“You can’t do that now, y’know. It’s bad for the babies. Adrian says he’s gonna be watching you this time.”
She chuckles, rubbing her swollen abdomen lightly.
“I don’t doubt that. He’s his father’s son.”
Beckah doesn’t say anything, just smiles her father’s half-smile as she places a hand on Katie’s stomach, where her siblings are growing. Katie buries her nose in Beckah’s hair again, rubbing her back in soothing motions, and eventually she can hear her breathing deepen and even out, feels her body relax as she falls asleep again. She knows she shouldn’t let her, there’s a ‘family gathering’ at Hogwarts today, but she also knows that Dumbledore won’t mind that much if they’re late. She pulls back a little, trying to ease out of her grip, but Beckah whimpers and tightens it. Adrian isn’t the only one just like Marcus.
A small ‘hmm-hmm’ forces her to crane her neck over the covers as best she can, looking towards the door. Adrian’s standing there, a soft knowing smile on his face. She can’t help but return the smile, gesturing him over to the bed. He makes his way over a lot quieter and slower than his younger sister, settling himself next to them almost soundlessly.
“Funny, how even though he’s not here, the right side of the bed is still almost exclusively Da’s.” She shrugs slightly in off-hand agreement, her gaze straying to the vacant space. The bed always looks bigger when Marcus isn’t in it. She knows it is
big, but so is Marcus, so she’s not used to seeing that much space. She’s used to seeing a whole lot of Marcus -- not that she’s complaining -- so all that extra space is intimidating, to say the least. Shivering, she turns her gaze back to Adrian, watching her with his father’s eyes.
“Did you have to tell her?” she asks reproachfully, albeit somewhat half-heartedly, as she slowly attempts to ease Beckah’s grip.
“She asked. What was I supposed to do, lie to her? She’d be able to tell. Besides, it’s the pout. I can’t resist.” She gives him a pout of her own at that, complete with puppy dog eyes, even though she’s not really sure why. Adrian obviously sees how pointless it is too, because he just smirks.
“Uh uh, Mum. I’ve no doubt in the world that that works with Da, but it doesn’t with me, and you know it. Probably why you taught Beckah,” he mutters darkly, but she’s too busy being happy and grinning like a fool to really care about that last comment. After all these years, and even with the additions to their now not-so-little family, Marcus still gets a kick out of hearing his children call him ‘Da’, He acts like it’s a little miracle every time it happens. It makes him so happy, and although he hides it well, for the most part, it’s obvious to her, and it’s hard for it to not be infectious; it’s gotten to the point were she starts beaming every time as well.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she replies playfully.
“What? How it works on Da? No thanks. I don’t need any mentals of you two getting groiny. The audio and unmistakable results are bad enough,” he says, gesturing to the bump her belly makes in the mound of blankets.
“Honestly Mum, I’m fifteen. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have your friends know that your parents are still doing... that
? Especially Slytherin friends.” She can’t help it; she’s shocked. That was her SON that just said that! She’s sure her eyes are as wide as saucers, and her jaw’s probably sunk deep into the mattress at this point.
“Adrian Marcus Flint! Get your mind out of the gutter! When did you get such a dirty mind, and why are you using it around me?! I’m your MOTHER! You’re not supposed to… your father would be…”
“Shocked? Speechless? Severely disturbed? He’d probably blush. Which, by the way, looks incredibly ridiculous on a Flint.” She has to agree with him there. Only, she leans more towards ‘completely adorable’ than ‘incredibly ridiculous’.
“I think it’s cute,” she says softly, and Adrian snorts loudly.
“You would. You always have had strange tastes. I mean… Da. Right there. That’s all I need to say.” How easily that statement could’ve contained malice, if it were from almost anyone else. The Flint name, she’s learnt, still carries the sins of the past.
“Need I remind you, son, that if it weren’t for my ‘strange tastes’ you wouldn’t be alive? To quote a timeless mother’s adage: I brought you into this world, young man, and I can take you out of it, so watch your step. Especially when it concerns my husband.” She smiles at him to soften her harsh tone, but doesn’t need to, because Adrian’s started rolling his eyes already anyway. She’s about to reproach him when a sleepy “Da’s not strange Rye, you are,” emerges from the prone form beside her, and Adrian barely restrains his laughter. She shoos him away, trying hard to look like she’s actually annoyed.
“Go and supervise your brothers, would you? I’ll deal with Cass, I promise, since I know you’ll refuse to touch that situation, but can you at least make sure that Zach and Matt don’t take each others clothes again, please? I don’t have the energy to referee a fight this morning. The lid’s coming off that Floo pot at exactly 12 noon, and if you aren’t dressed, ready and waiting by that fireplace I’m leaving without you. And I might just take the powder with me, all the way to Hogwarts, and you’ll miss out on the Christmas party, not to mention the annual Weasley snowball fight.”
“Yes ma’am,” Adrian exclaims before saluting her playfully and marching out the door. She suppresses a smile at her eldest son’s antics, burrowing back in with her daughter for just a little longer. Just a few more minutes, she promises herself silently, and then she’ll get up and supervise the dressing of her youngest son. At four years old, Cassius was quite the ‘eclectic artist’; lime green trousers and an orange Chudley Cannons shirt were, to him, the perfect combination – which, obviously, wouldn’t do, considering his mother was a former Holyhead Harpies Chaser and his father the current Falmouth Falcons captain and lead Chaser.
“I love you.” Katie smiles against her daughter’s hair, pulling her a little closer, tightening her arms around her beautiful little girl, her only one – one of her many links to her husband, and to the future.
“I love you too, poss,” Katie replies, her voice soft and low, using Marcus’ nickname for their daughter. It is comforting, she thinks as one of the babies shifts within her womb, to know that she is not the only one who misses Marcus Flint, and to know that, even when he’s not there, he’s left her seven little pieces of him. And with that thought as comfort, she buries her nose a little closer to Beckah and promptly falls asleep.if you're gone - baby you need to come home
cuz there's a little bit of something me
in everything in you