"What were you doing in there, Marcus? Been here forever."

Marcus blinked up at Rhea, Mr. Turner's overly happy daughter, then at Mr. Turner himself who gave him a warm smile.

"Things. Stuff. Life. Thank you for doing this. Did Lionel ring you up?" Marcus said as he let them in, Rhea pulling in a sort of trolley that held the large television. Marcus' eyes sparkled at the sight of it, already excited for the high definition view of his favorite shows.

"Anytime, Mark! And yeah. Doesn't do a great job at manning the front desk, that Lionel. Old man should really retire, don't you think?" Rhea said, chatting away like she usually did, as she entered the apartment with her tall, muscular father in tow who pulled in the television.

"Maybe. I like having him around though," Marcus answered politely, shutting the door then following them into the living room.

He sighed at the way both Rhea and Mr. Turner stared at the broken glass door, both saying nothing but looked at each other with questioning eyes.

If they asked, Marcus was just going to shrug.

"So how's life been, Marcus? Haven't talked to you in forever," Rhea asked, rosy, chubby cheeks made more prominent when she showed her dazzling smile.

It's been approximately six months since we last talked, Rhea. No need to exaggerate, and we haven't talked because I don't like talking to gossips. Untrustworthy, y'know?

"Life's been life. Can't complain. You guys need anything?" Marcus asked, already walking backward, headed for the kitchen to check on his shaken guest.

"A glass of water would be nice," Mr. Turner said, his deep, scratchy voice as pleasant as always. Marcus did always enjoy the older man's company. His salt and pepper colored hair mixed in with his quiet though kind and friendly personality reminded Marcus so much of his Gran.

"Sure thing," Marcus said as he entered the kitchen and left the town's best electricians to do their thing.

He was surprised though to find Kuzma in front of the sink, his head under the running tap.

He watched silently as his guest flipped his wet hair back, water dripping onto the floors and wetting the back of the grey sweater Marcus had given him the other day.

"Are you o--"

"I am fine," Kuzma cut him off sharply and Marcus pressed his lips back together.

"Okay then," Marcus mumbled as he walked towards Kuzma.

Removing the small hand towel from over his chair, Marcus stood in front of Kuzma, hesitant, but wanting to help.

He slowly offered the towel to Kuzma, hoping his guest didn't slash his hand again. Although the slashes had closed up, they still hurt and were going to scar.

"I do not need your assistance," Kuzma growled, eyeing the towel and Marcus hummed in response.

The statement sounded like it involved more than a towel.

"Tough. Cause you're getting it. Now are you going to take this or do I have to clean you up myself?" Marcus asked, his voice sounding deceptively relaxed.

For whatever reason, Kuzma did not respond, not verbally anyway. Instead, he scoffed and folded his thin arms, looking down at Marcus with his glare of all glares. It was almost like he was daring Marcus to do something, either that or he was expecting something.

Marcus stood there, the small blue towel in his hand, and did not know what he was supposed to do.

"Well?" The sudden sound of Kuzma's voice made Marcus jump slightly.

"Well what?"

"Well are you going to clean me or do you want me to dry out here like clothes out of the laundry?" Kuzma asked, growling out each word.

Marcus blinked at him, his head tilting to the side slightly before he sighed.

"You are so confusing," Marcus said as he took a step closer and had to stretch to get to Kuzma's hair.

"First it's stay away, don't trust the human. Then it's hug hour and needing the human to stay around, even talking to the human. Then it's right back to stay away and now it's clean up time for the human. You're worse than a soap opera."

"You're the one that offered. Why do you talk so much?" Kuzma asked, bending down slightly and giving Marcus better access to the black hair that reached below the thinner man's ass.

Not that Marcus was looking. That would've been more than a little inappropriate.

"Because I do that when I feel awkward."

"Enough of it. Your voice is annoying."

Marcus shut his mouth at that, already knowing that fact from the people that had told him the same thing whenever he talked about something.

It didn't hurt when Kuzma or anyone else said he was annoying because he understood that he was. A strange, scruffy man that said the first random thing that came to mind. Some found it funny, most found it disturbing.

So Marcus remained silent and continued to gently wipe Kuzma's face, distracting himself by wondering what kind of cells Kuzma had to be able to heal his wounds so fast.

He tried not to think about Kuzma staring straight at him without a hint of the fear that Marcus saw when he went to open the door for the Turners. Just an angry stare with enough intensity to leave Marcus feeling very, very uncomfortable.

"Gonna need a bigger towel for your hair," Marcus said calmly, taking a step back and turning to the sink to squid the wet towel.

"Marcus! We're all set. Where's that glass of water dad asked...for."

Marcus turned around to see Rhea looking at Kuzma, her face turning a bit red.

He could understand that reaction to some extent. Even though he looked sickly skinny, Kuzma still held a kind of beauty to him. It was hard to ignore.

"So," Rhea said after clearing her throat and wiping her hands on her navy blue overalls, "who's your friend, Marcus?"

Marcus glanced at Kuzma who hadn't stopped staring at him, then turned back at Rhea.

"A friend from New York," Marcus said, feeling a bit bad about lying but it wasn't like he could've told her the truth.

The whole town was already going to know about Kuzma's existence by the next morning thanks to Rhea's need to talk about every small interesting thing that happened in their small, woodsy town, best not to add the fact that the man had wings to all that gossip as well.

Marcus wished it wasn't true but what Kuzma said about the reaction he expected from humans, well it was pretty accurate. Many would've probably called the police as soon as they had seen Kuzma.

When one thought about it, Kuzma was pretty lucky that Marcus was who he was. Annoying, scruffy and all.

"There are towels in the bathroom. You can have a shower if you want. Just be careful of your wounds. Is your neck not healed yet?" Marcus asked Kuzma in a whisper, leaning closer to him as he felt Rhea's eyes bore into the back of his head like two arrows.

"Tell me when they leave. I'm hungry," Kuzma said, not answering him, before leaning off the counter and heading out of the kitchen, walking past Rhea without a second glance.

Marcus sighed once he lost sight of his guest, wishing he could get a clue as to how to deal with someone in the guy's situation instead of just doing whatever came to mind.

Marcus could guess accurately enough from what Kuzma had told him that the guy was a victim of kidnap and abuse and who knew what else. He just didn't know for how long or how to take care and help someone in that situation.

Sure, he had to talk to some victims during cases like that back in New York but it was usually just for a few moments before social or the government was involved and did everything else.

Something tells me I'm way over my head here, he thought as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Marcus!"

He jumped at the sound of Rhea's excited voice so close to his face, blinking down at her face and he wondered why her green eyes were shining so bright with excitement.

"What? Oh yeah. The money is in my wallet. I'll go get i-"

"Later," she said quickly, standing up straight and putting her hands on her hips as she grinned up at Marcus. "Right now, you've gotta tell me everything. When did you get a boyfriend? And one so sexy?"

"Well, he kinda just show--" Marcus stopped talking, his coffee-deprived brain slowly analyzing those words.

He blinked down at her with his usual expression, half-closed eyes just blinking slowly as they looked at the freckled face of the excited woman.

He was patiently waiting for the punchline to the joke but after a minute of silence, he was resigned to the fact that she was serious.

Well shit.