Last Chance (PunkPrince!)

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During the ride, Lucian had been fairly silent. He didn't dwell on the situation either. It was what it was. A Common thing his father would have said. But Lucian knew he couldn't leave her on the streets to starve, or worse to get horribly maimed and murdered. He would never be able to live with himself.

The car ride to his home had been maybe a good half-hour or so, She'd note that they were well outside of the city limits bordering on being into the rural area. Lucian swung the car into the drive way, facing a front set of iron gates. They'd swing open, being triggered on a motion sensor system and he'd causally pull them through. The drive way was dark on this stormy night, and it took them a few moments for it to give way to the great house that stood at its' end. It was huge, smaller than a mansion, but nearly the size of manor.

Built in the style of colonial manner, the pillars out front made for a grandiose entrance to something that seem old worldly in the modern age. Who would have guess Lucian owned a home with this kind of historical architecture? In college, while he majored in one thing, history from this time period had made him gain a minor degree. The driveway circled around, and Lucian stopped the car at the front door. It was obvious Lucian had a very good life. And he really hadn't known the same hardships.

"Here we are.." He finally spoke while he parked the car and turned it off. Using his cell, he was able to turn on the lights and unlock the front door. "Go on in. I'll be right behind you. Just need to get my briefcase."
 
nMarilyn turned to gaze out the window as Lucian drove. They were out of the city at this point, somewhere Marilyn wasn't really used to. She had spent so much time in the city over the past ten years, and even as a kid she could be found wandering the city street. The car slowed as they reached a set of iron gates, and Marilyn began to feel more nervous than before as they swung open and the car drove up to the house. It was definitely something she wasn't accustomed to, that was for sure.

She had grown up in quiet town and a small house. A single floor, two bedrooms. The master bedroom for her parents and a separate room that the twins had shared for their entire childhood. Her family had been middle class, not rich but certainly not impoverished either. This place was so much more than what she had grown up with, practically a palace compared to the motel room she had spent years in. Her family had tried not to take any more than what they needed. "Woah, she said softly, too quiet for Lucian to hear as he stopped at the front door.

She hesitated for a moment before she stepped out of the car. "Is it just you and your sons here?" she asked, and then stiffened. "Sorry," she apologized. She tended to avoid asking questions, mostly because she didn't really see herself as worth answering. And she didn't want to get into other people's business. She slowly moved toward the house. She felt so out of place here, though she wouldn't say anything. She didn't belong here, that much was obvious. She opened the door and stepped into the house, glancing around as she did.
 
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"Why are you apologizing?" Lucian answered from having his face buried into the trunk, trying to fish out his briefcase. "Yeah.. It's just us. The kids love it though." The house had been an after thought about he time his wife had passed on. Maybe a lingering promise or ode to her memory. In the years before Phil was born, they'd lived in a studio apartment on the upper west-side. There was barely enough room to even turn around in the kitchen, and they often joked about Lucian making the 'big money' and buying a house of this size.

That was a really long time ago, and this wasn't all about him, it had been about what she would have wanted for their boys. His wife had grown up poor, barely having money to eat on with a single mother. She'd spoken on numerous occasion on how her mother slept around, bumming money from this boyfriend or that one, never bothered to hold down a job. It was one of those stories that you watched on the daytime talk show. Or it could turn into Jerry Springer. She'd worked hard to not be her mother. She'd earned the respect of her peers in her field of employment, tried to advance as quickly as she could. All the while trying to keep up with him, and their growing family.

Until the night of their massive argument.

Making it into the house, he closed the door behind him. The first room they would walk into was huge, with high ceilings that ran so high one could see those on the second floor landing from where they stood. Nutral colors, it was very obvious males only lived here. No pops of color and nothing that noted a woman's touch had every laid grace here. "Come on. Lets get you something to eat, and me a very stiff drink." Every night since his wife died, this is how his evening came to an end. A stiff drink, some news, and then he'd climb between the sheets and call it a night.

Romaing though the house, on their way to the kitchen; there was little that said that they didn't have a high-class lifestyle. From the paintings on the walls, to the old world feel of the expensive Italian leather couch, the whole first floor was a homage to the late Colonial period. The kitchen however, it screamed the latest Chef style that his money could buy. All top notch professional quality in stainless steel.
 
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"I don't know," Marilyn answered. "Just not used to getting to ask questions, I suppose." Her inquisitive nature had almost always been frowned upon. She had memories from her childhood of questioning her mother. "How come girls get to play with dolls and boys don't? Why can you wear makeup and I can't?" among others. Repeated "Why's" until one of her parents, usually her father, turned to her and snapped, "Because that's just how things are, Alexander! Go outside and stop asking me questions!" She had learned to keep her questions buried.

It was nice to know that his children liked it though. Any kid would. Marilyn would have loved to grow up in a house like this. But she hadn't. And she felt awkward to be standing in one now.

She followed Lucian through the house. God, this place was nice. A bit plain for her taste, but she couldn't complain. It was a million times nicer than where she had grown up, or the motel, with it's cracked, white painted, peeling walls with the dingy brown carpet that was covered in stains of only God knows what. Part of her was glad to be away from it. It was okay for a night maybe, but years? That would take a toll on anybody.

"Nice place," she commented to Lucian as they stepped into the kitchen. "It's gorgeous actually. A lot nicer than what I'm used to."
 
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Lucian started going though the refrigerator. "I didn't grow up like this either. My father's a retired Cop." Leaning partly out, he peeked from around the door to look at her. "My parents think I went overboard. I get complaints from, the house is too big to you're not teaching the boys anything." And here Lucian thought the whole idea of going to college and earning the big money was exactly this; giving his family a better quality of life. His attention turned back toward the frozen pizza that glared at him to be eaten.

It was late, the idea of trying to cook a huge meal for one person became a daunting task in his mind. Lucian was just ready for his glass of Jimmy Walker, news on the stock exchange, and his bed. All in that order. "I hope pizza is alright for the night. I'll though it in, get you settled in the guest room, then crash and burn."

Few moments later there was a pepperoni pizza in the oven, timer set so it wouldn't burn, and Lucian was trying to get his tie undone. "And my manners. Thank you..." He waved his hand to head out of the kitchen and with half cocked grin on his face. "Shall we?" While the pizza sizzled in the oven, Lucian's feet carried him down the hallway, passed what appeared to be a study right into a bedroom on the bottom floor. Painted with the baby blue walls, the room carried a more spa like feel. "So here we are..."

With an attached full bathroom, Lucian made his way there, open the door and cut on the light. "I think everything is here. Towels.. Wash rags. Soap. We can tomorrow go and pick up whatever you need before we go get the kids." That subject brought up a whole diffident issue. "If you don't mind-" Moving , twisting his upper body to look at her. "My boys are a little young to understand this kind of thing. I don't want them confused. So could you.. You know.. Make sure you don't roam around the house as a.. Dude. I know that sounds.. Horrible. But I can't say I'm ready to explain things like this.." The rest of his body joined his upper body.

"I might be a dick and make Jace do it...."
 
"Pizza is okay," she said. "Great, actually." Pizza was something she hadn't eaten in ages. Most of what she ate was whatever she could get for cheap. A jar of peanut butter had managed to sustain her until she had gotten sick of it. She had continued eating it just to keep herself alive. A lot of what she had been forced to eat were things she might have turned her nose up at as a kid. But food was food. She had eaten from dumpsters out of desperation before, and anything was better than that.

Once in the oven, the scent the pizza gave off was mouthwatering. She followed Lucian out of the kitchen and down the hall to the guest room. She had to blink a couple of times to make sure she wasn't dreaming this. She half expected to wake up on the lumpy motel bed mattress, or a park bench, or drugged in a motel room.

She nodded when Lucian showed her the bathroom. "Thank you," she said. She hated showering, but she did need to wash up. It probably wouldn't take too long when she did. She hadn't had any clients tonight. The more people she fucked, the longer her showers were. She struggled to wash away the disgusting feeling that a night of work always left her with.

Her brow furrowed at Lucian's request. "I won't," she said. "I don't. I never do. I'm not a guy. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than living as one, being seen as one. I'm a transsexual. Not a transvestite. There's a difference."

"I understand you aren't ready to explain it," she said. "But if you change your mind and want it explained to them I could always do it." She shrugged.
 
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Lucian watched her softly nodding his head softly as she explained things. "I understand. Bare with me a little. I really don't understand it and don't really know what the difference is." He hoped he didn't offend her. But he had to keep the order in his home and make sure people that were here understood it was up to him to protect his children from things they might be too young to understand. He was an adult and found it hard to understand. He couldn't understand how children would understand it. He took in a deep breath. "The pizza should be done shortly and I'll leave it on the stove for you, come and get it whenever you are ready."

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The next morning he felt like he'd been ran over. His head ached, his sinuses were all stuffy. Great. He was getting sick. The sounds of zombie like groans could be heard heading down the staircase and shuffling feet into the kitchen. Where was the coffee? And the coffee pot? He knew he owned one but his vision still fell so blurry. He had too many drinks last night after he left Marilyn. At first it had been one, then two, and before two AM, the bottle had gone empty. That was the only reason he stopped.

The waking aroma of coffee filled up the bottom floor of the house and Lucian was quick to snag the first cup of caffeine goodness. Still in a pair of men's pajama's in black, no shirt, he stood there drinking his cup of coffee when he noted the dirty pizza pan in the kitchen sink. He half wondered if she ate the whole thing.
 
When Marilyn woke up, the first thing she did was panic. Then she remembered all that had happened last night. She was safe here. This was not a bad place. She sighed, relieved, and sat up slowly. She felt so...well rested. It felt so strange. She had eaten last night, practically scarfed down the pizza once Lucian had left her alone, and then fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. She smelled coffee, and figured that meant that Lucian was awake. She stood up and shuffled into the bathroom. Maybe she could make breakfast for him. Pay him back a bit for last night.

She shaved her face, which was still fine from the previous day's shave, but she was generally pretty paranoid about it. The only time she skipped shaving was when she knew she wasn't going to be seen by anyone apart from Devin, and even those days were rare. She had always been upset at the sight of hair on her face. When she had noticed it first starting to grow when she was a teenager, she had started crying in the bathroom.

After running her hands over her smooth face and running a brush through her hair, she slipped out of the bedroom, still in what she had worn to bed last night. A pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. She was quiet moving through the house, and found Lucian in the kitchen drinking coffee. Without a shirt on. She found herself staring at him, and quickly snapped herself out of it. "Good morning Lucian," she greeted. "Did you sleep well?" She paused. "Have you eaten yet? I can make pancakes or something if you want. I miss cooking."
 
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"Shhhhhhhhhhhh..Shh." A finger rose upward to his lips as he turned to look at her. "So.. Hung over." The idea of food just didn't settle well, he paled looking like the idea of food just might make him vomit. There he was, in all of his half-naked glory. His was fit, athletic type with a tattoo on his right shoulder of tribal dragon. Getting her a cup down, placing next to the coffee pot, "Help yourself.." He sounded gruff, tired, and hung over. "Damn you Jimmy Walker.." A grin washed over his unshaven face, sported in five o'cloak stubble.

"You sleep okay?" His free hand rubbed over his face trying to push the sleep out of his eyes. Focus, focus. His eyes were squinting light at her. "Wait, you cook?" Fumbling around, he was looking for the TV remote that went to the TV in the kitchen, turned it on and slipped into a bar stool at the center island. The TV was set to stock exchange news, the ticker tape scrolling at the bottom of the screen. "Need you to make a list of things you need."

He found himself utterly staring at her. It was odd to wake with a woman in his house, but the somewhat cheerful tone of her 'good morning' had been pleasant to hear.
 
"Sorry," she apologized when he shushed her. It was obvious he was hungover. She frowned. He sounded like he was getting sick too. She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip before placing it off to the side. She laughed softly at the surprised tone in his voice upon hearing that she could cook. "I can," she said. "I love it. My parents weren't too fond of the hobby, but I used to cook all the time when I was a kid. I like to think I'm good at it. I try."

She had cooked all the time when she was young. The feminine interest had displeased her parents, and they had tried to stop her from cooking. They'd failed though. She'd often baked things, cakes, cookies, and then hidden them away in her room to share with her brother in secret. She'd always managed to cover her tracks fairly well, and her parents hadn't caught her. Or maybe they had and just hadn't mentioned it to her.

"If you aren't hungry I won't cook though," she shrugged. "I can pretty much eat anything." She noted the scratchiness of his voice once again and asked, "Are you feeling okay? You sound sick. You should drink a glass of Orange juice. It'll help. Keep you from getting worse and probably get you better sooner." Her mother had often recommended that to the twins when they were children. Marilyn had hated orange juice, and constantly turned it down, but Devin had drank it constantly. He hardly ever got sick as a result. Lucky him.

"I can do that," she said when he told her to make a list of what she needed. She spotted a notebook across the counter, and after confirming it was okay for her to use it, she settled down and began to write. Most of what she needed were clothes. She had almost none. That and razors that wouldn't attack her poor face every morning. Dollar store razors would do that to you.
 
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"I cook and the house smells like smoke for three days." Along with a plethora of complaints. Dad it's burnt... Dad, It taste bad.. Dad, Ethiopians eat better - the list just went on. Being even after all of these years, he still hadn't managed to get the cooking thing to a point that the kids didn't end up on the phone calling Grandma, or worse - Jace to please 'come save them from Dad's cooking.' It always added insult to injury. Another coughing fit hit him and he last longer than the last. "Put the juice on your list.. We'll get while we're out."

He'd been working himself into the ground, pulling all nights in order to get a multi-million dollar proposal ready to go. Eating Dayquil like tic-tacs, he was out of his stool digging around into a junk drawer looking for more. The little box was nearly empty, so he popped two more with his coffee. It was hot in the house. Really hot. To a point, another coughing spell hit him and he moved out of the kitchen down the hall to check the thermostat. Only 70 degrees. He really was getting sick.

Coming back, he dumped the old coffee in his cup and made another. "Marilyn.. I really don't feel good..." It was so hot. Just too damned hot.
 
Marilyn had to laugh when Lucian talked about his own cooking. Her brother's cooking tended to turn out like that. He wasn't awful at cooking, some of what he made actually turned out to be quite good, but some of it could probably kill a man. She nodded and added the orange juice to her list, looking worriedly over at Lucian as he burst into another coughing fit. She was starting to get worried about him. He looked terrible.

Marilyn usually managed to avoid getting sick, but when she did catch something it was never a simple cold. Always some sort of virus that left her alternating between freezing and burning up and not having the energy to move anything. It usually resulted in her sleeping almost completely through at least a week.

"Maybe you should go back to bed for a while," she suggested to him. "Maybe you'll feel better. I can go to the store and get the orange juice and some medicine for you. I think I have enough money left over for that. You look like you're about to pass out."
 
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Staring at her, his eyes were blood shot, red rimmed; looking rather like he'd been out parting all night. Far from the truth. "I'll be fine." Stubborn and hard headed were words everyone used with Lucian. "Just give the meds a sec to work..." Another fresh cup of coffee made, he went back to his stool and watched more news. Leaning on his elbow, sipping casually from the coffee mug, his whole body felt heavy.

He didn't like the idea of Marilyn paying for anything for him. She was already struggling and he had plenty of money. "The nearest store is ten miles down the street, what are you going to do, walk? It's only forty-eight degrees outside. There is no way I'm letting walk down the street in this kind of weather for fucking meds and OJ." And now he was MR. Grumpy-pants. "Sorry.. That came out mean and it was uncalled for." He lifted his coffee to his lips and drank. "Besides, I didn't expect you to pay for all the stuff on your list. I was."

His joints ached, his head was still pounding, and worse; he felt like he was going to barf at any moment. Trying to shake this off wasn't going to be easy. But things had to get done, he only had today to get them done, and then back to work on this proposal. This had to go through.
 
"Yeah," Marilyn said. "I can walk. I've walked further before. And it's not that cold out. I'll wear a coat and I'll be fine. You're not going to get any better if you keep being so stubborn. You look like hell and you need rest. And if you're snapping like that you obviously aren't feeling well." He tried to protest her buying everything and she quickly shut him down again. "So I'll only pay for the medicine and the juice if you'd rather me do that."

"Just go back to bed for a while. I can take care of some of what needs done for now. If you feel better after you rest for a little while you can take things over again. You're not going to get anything done if you aren't feeling well. I'm going to get dressed. And when I come back you'd better be in bed." She didn't wait for a response before walking out of the room. She could be pretty stern if she wanted to be...not that it always worked.

She headed into the bathroom attached to her room and dug through her bag for her makeup and some clean clothes. She dressed quickly and did her makeup, more casual than what she wore at night. She grabbed her leather jacket from the bottom of her bag and the gray beanie hat she often wore. Maybe that would help appease Lucian. She headed back into the kitchen again.
 
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He turned to look at her with a scowl on his face. It was completely readable. "That's not going to happen, Marilyn. And certainly not for my sake. I'm a big boy and I'm not going to have someone out there walking in the cold. That's final." The boss came out of hiding even when the coughing started and it got to a point where he couldn't seem to catch his breath. Only to look up and She was gone. Damn woman. He slipped from his chair and started to Marilyn's room. "Did you hear what I said?"

Mr. Grouchy wasn't at all pleased as his hand knocked on her bedroom door. "It's not like I'm going to die.." Was she even paying him any attention? "Mari--" The coughing started, cutting off the words before he could even get them out of his mouth. "God Damn it.." Before she'd have time to answer her door, he took off for the small power room off the side of the living room- he finally coughed until he was vomiting up his coffee and all the medication he'd just taking. This couldn't be a pretty sight to see.
 
Marilyn sighed as Lucian spoke. He wasn't budging. Maybe she would have listened to him had she not been growing progressively more worried by the minute. He scolded her through the closed door, and for a moment she simply pretended not to have heard him. It wasn't like he could hold her down and force her not to go out. The most he could really do was threaten to fire her or kick her out, and at this point she didn't really care much about either consequence anymore. She was more worried about what might happen to Lucian if he didn't lie down and get some rest.

He started to call for her again, but her name was cut short by yet another fit of coughing. She heard his footsteps retreat down the hall, and she opened the bedroom door just as he disappeared around the corner. She followed after him and found her in the powder room vomiting up his pills and coffee. She sighed and helped him to his feet, wiping off his mouth with a tissue as she did. "If you'd rather end up in the hospital, we can do that too," she said firmly. "Nothing good is going to come of you trying to work when you're this sick. Let me help you," she said worriedly. "Please."
 
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When Marilyn arrived, she'd find him on his knee's hugging the toilet. "You win.." While she helped him back to his feet, wiped his mouth like he was a four year-old, he burped up and it tasted horrible. "Oh God.. I am dying.." She'd have to help him up the stairs, onto his bedroom. How plain. There was nothing in it. Just four white walls, a full-sized box springs and mattress on the floor and flat screen TV on the wall. That was fairly odd. To have the entire house completely decorated but this one room.

It reflected how he felt. Plain and empty. When she got him into bed, he reached for his car keys and his wallet that sat on a old milk crate. "No walking. And here's some money for my stuff and whatever else you need." He coughed more, then pointed his finger at her. "Even if you don't mind the cold, the street is busy. I don't want you getting ran over."
 
"You're not dying," she said to him as she started to help him up the stairs. "Just sick. You'll feel better once you've rested a bit." She was glad to have finally worn him out. She didn't want him getting any worse. Marilyn helped him into his room, and noticed how plain the bedroom was. Maybe he just liked his room plain. A change from the rest of his house. She gently pushed him down so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He passed her his car keys as well as some money for whatever she needed. "Thank you," she said quietly. She didn't argue with him anymore. She would try to keep her spending to a minimum and bring him his change. "I'll be back. Get some rest, okay?" She turned to walk out of the room, giving a final glance back at her sick boss before heading downstairs.

She got into the car and drove to the store in total silence. It felt weird to be driving again. She hoped Lucian was going to be okay. She hated seeing him sick. She wasn't used to it and it left her feeling uneasy. At least he had given in to her help and wouldn't try to work himself to death.

She reached the store in about twenty minutes and went inside to get what she needed. She got the medicine and juice first, not really concerned with getting anything for herself, and then got a couple of razors along with a few fairly decent items of clothing. Not a lot, but still better than what she had. A lot of it was just old clothing from before she had come out that she tried to make look feminine. It would be nice to have something that didn't require her attempting to alter it.

As she checked out, she could feel the cashier's confused gaze on her. She tried not to let it bother her. Sometimes people stared. Sometimes they weren't sure what to make of her. It was a common thing she had learned to accept. Ordinarily it might have stung a bit, but right now she was more focused on getting back to Lucian than anything else.

She drove back to Lucian's house and got out of the car, locking it behind her. She slipped back inside, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb Lucian. She put her things in her room before returning to the kitchen and pouring Lucian a glass of orange juice. She took the glass in one hand and the bottle of pills in the other and headed up the stairs.

"Hey," she greeted Lucian, putting the bottle of pills down next to the bed. "I'm back." She passed the glass to him. "Here. Drink."
 
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Lucian Marks was out when she returned, shivering in cold sweats, but otherwise sleeping pretty hard. When his eyes opened at the sounds of womanly voice, he stared at her a moment, trying to remember- who was she? Delirium induced fever made his hand shoot from under the bed covers and cup her face. "What would I do without you?" The raspy voice sounded no better than when Marilyn left. Only that the bed was soaked with cold sweat, and it was all over his skin; drenching his hair. A thumb stroked lightly at her high cheeks bones. Just a few little strokes before his hand fell away from her face and he started to fall back into feverish sleep.

With a jerk of his head, his eyes snapped back open. His head wavering even as she offered the pills and orange juice. Lucian struggled to take it, his throat was on fire. Tight and unwilling to give to get anything else down. BUt he would make it through. He flopped backward onto his pillow. He'd moan softly while he tried to move around to get comfortable.
 
Lucian was out cold when Marilyn returned. She felt bad once she had woken him up. She should have just let him sleep. It was obvious he wasn't doing any better. He reached up and cupped her face, leaving her slightly surprised for a moment. She had to remind herself that he was still sick. Probably delirious. He wouldn't be doing this if he wasn't sick. She took a towel and softly ran it along his skin and his face, mopping off the sweat he was drenched in.

Lucian took a pill and a small sip of juice before placing both the glass and bottle of pills to the side. He was really sick. Lucian fell back onto his pillow and shifted a few times in an attempt to get comfortable. Marilyn pulled the covers up over him. "There," she said gently. "Better?" She paused. "Do you need anything else?" She wasn't sure if he heard her. He looked like he was dozing off again.
 
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