1963-09-25 - Planted Memories
Summary: Something or someone is planting memories in Marcus' head
Related: Hellmouth Stuff
Theme Song: None
marcus morgan 

It's late. And the world has begun to fall away around Marcus. At first the buzz of the world beyond begins to dull, lulling itself into a hazy escape — almost silent aside from the drip drip drip of a tap nearby.

The hum of traffic fades, and his mind flits to a place he can almost remember. In an odd way, there's a sense of dejavu that hangs over him as he begins to walk alongside the dock of New York harbour. Yet, it's not the dock of New York harbour. He's been there before. This feels different. It feels familiar.

The salty scent of ocean fills his nostrils as he strolls along the dock, and a voice rolls over his mind. It's soft, warm, and oddly inviting.

Fingers interlace with his. "You're being ridiculous," she laughs warmly. Her face still in the haze, it's nearly impossible to really see her, but there's an easy familiarity with her that Marcus can't quite identify.


It's been a long time since Marcus had any kind of good dream. Climbing out of some unnamed military installation in the forests of Germany, to jumping train cars from there all the way to England and eventually hiding on a container ship bound for Amercia, he's never had what one might call 'restful sleep'. A lot of sleepness night. Cold. Always cold when you're homeless, little more than some stolen clothes on his back and a couple coins to his name from panhandling.

The flattened boxes make do for a bed, and it's there he simply wishes for whatever has happened to him to go away, to remember something, anything of what he was, what he used to be. Doesn't even seem fair at times. To be experimented on is one horrible thing, but to come out of it barely remembering more than your own name and a couple of fragments from being in a war. It's not fair.

So perhpas he was sleeping. Or maybe he really was taking a walk just wanting to get out, even if he had no where to go. Montana would nice to remember, if he could even remember that. The trees, the mountains. But, this dock will do. Maybe he's been here before. Maybe it was some place he liked.

He's used to questioning a lot of things lately, but the fact that there's a hand in his, apparently wanting to be around him? There's a particular catharsis in that. A kind of contact that he had almost forgotten. He turns to woman that apparently been with, when did she appear? Was she always here? Or was he just distracted with something else. Even that seems hazy now.

"Huh?" he blinks. "I…uh, sorry. What was I saying? Got sidetracked." This seems like someone he can talk to. Or has talked to. Seems like he knows her, but can't quite picture it properly.


The mystery woman moves her hand to interlock arms with Marcus, clinging her elbow with his so she can sidle closer to him. "You were saying we should think about five. Which is," the laugh can still be found in her voice, "insane. Marcus Renolds, I am not having five children, no matter how badly you want them. It's ridiculous! I think," she pokes him in the chest with her free hand, "you should be happy with whatever children I'm willing to bear for you and," she actually giggles, "count your lucky stars that I'm over the moon for you enough to even want one." He can virtually feel her nose wrinkle with the little bit of displeasure at the next thought, "You know how I hate doctors."

She becomes less hazy, and a glint of dark hair enters his view. It's long wavy form almost appears as silk as the woman moves. Soft tendrils cascade halfway down her back.


Kids? When did Marcus say he wanted kids? Okay, sure, eventually. Figured he'd start a family after he came back from the war, but…that didn't happen. He must've said something like that. Apparently he said something like that. "Five would be a lot of work." he finally ventures, unsure for a moment, but maybe that sensation isn't so bad suddenly. There's a look around the dock, as if trying to get his bearings. She knows him at least, they seem, well, close? Something. "But it'd fun working towards it."

"You…are?" he blinks again. Is this real? It has to be real, right? "Yeah, you're right. Should be whatever happens. I mean, so long as it's with you, I mean. I just, er, well, I didn't want to press my luck with you." But something feels off to him, however. "Man…I don't know where I get this feeling from. I thought I was in New York for a moment." Then a look at her. "You're okay with it? With me, I mean? Not a lot women would want to be with someone who's got brands all over him."


A giggle emits from the woman who is becoming increasingly clearer. Her dark lashes, dark eyebrows, and dark hair somehow seem to make her pale skin that much paler. Green eyes peer out curiously at Marcus, and nearly-red lips curve into a bemused smirk. "You're teasing me," is her accent British, maybe? It's certainly European, but faded, like she's been in the States for some time.

"You know I only have one place I'd spend my time in New York. We've talked about this," she grins again. "When this is all over, if you want, you know you'll find me there." She glances out at the harbour, and her voice turns wistful, "No, soon you'll be shipping out. You'll come back a hero and forget all about me and your five babies." She smirks. "I can already tell."

Her voice drips like honey as she gives her black coat a sharp tug. She looks at him for a moment as he asks the last, completely confused by the question. "We've been together long enough that nothing could keep me from you."


"No, no, I'm not going to forget." Marcus stops walking, looking at her. "You really think I'd forget the woman I married?" Yeah, this is right. Has to be. "I'm coming back from all this shit I gotta take care of and I'll come back to you, I promise." Then a headshake. "I'm no hero, I'm just soldier. Nothing more than that. Just someone doing the job he was told to do. Taking order, I guess I'm good at that."

"Now you're the tormenting. After all the chasing I did to get you to notice me? No, no way in hell I'm letting you go again." Then he gives a pause. "That's if…you plan on waiting for me while I'm gone. It's not like beautiful women like you are exactly common, and I consider it dumb luck that you noticed me at all."


The woman's lips hitch up on one side, and her eyes glint with strange sincerity. "Marcus," her chin drops to her chest bashfully, "it's not dumb luck. Any girl would be lucky to have you. I'm just the luckiest of the bunch." She reaches for his hand to press a light kiss against the back. "Kendra Renolds would wait two lifetimes to find you," she offers lowly. "And then eternity to reunite with you."

Her gaze turns hopeful, "Promise me you'll come back to me? I'll wait, and work, and will go to our meeting spot in New York every single evening to watch the sunset fade. I'll be waiting there. On our bench. I promise."


Marcus smiles at her, as if her smile is one of the few things that brings a certain level of joy to him. "You sure do know how to make a boy feel wanted." he muses. "Because I'm just some sap who managed to find a diamond. And he has no idea what to do with her." Yeah, this is nice, this memory. It might even keep him warm at night, the thought of her. "I'm glad you like that name. Sounds nice. I promise I'll come back, Nazis can't keep me away from for forever."

"I promise." he nods again. "When this is all over, that's the spot I'll be looking for you at." And that's where he pulls her in to kiss her, as if it was something oh so natural that he would do, kissing his wife. "I love you Kendra. Always have, always will."


The scent of lavender and hyssops enters Marcus's senses as he leans in towards her — a gentle trigger of memory that washes over him. Kendra's lips crush against Marcus's. Her arms draw around his neck, and she, in short order, has abandoned herself to the kiss. When it finally breaks, she smiles up at him, "And I love you Marcus."

Her eyebrows lift, "Everything will turn out. You'll see."


Marcus himself wrapped up in that embrace and completely goes with it, pulling her again him and let his lips do the talking about how much he needs her and how much he's going to miss her. Get those feelings in now while he can. A hand runs those to black locks before finally breaking away. "You just had to kiss me like that before I left. Because I know that particular one of yours. Usually it led to better stuff after." he grins. Then a nod. "Yeah, I hope so. I want it to. So long you're there, it'll be alright."


"And I'll be there every night, hell or high water," Kendra returns with all the gumption of Rosie the Riveter. "I'd never forget the spot. You proposed there. It was a holiday in New York. So lovely, so perfect, and then as we walked through the park, just outside of midtown, we sat on the bench. And you dropped to one knee. It was perfect."

"And there I will be waiting."


"I remember." Marcus agrees, thinking upon that. A good memory, that. "You were wearing that red dress. With the…silver bracelet." he seems to recall after a moment. "A lot of good memories on that bench." Then he's looking around. "Look, I don't have to leave just yet. We could always go back to your place. Spend the last couple of hours with each other?" A pauses, debating before continuing, "Sans the clothing?"


"That dress continues to be just a little bit… scandalous. Especially for a married woman!" Kendra grins despite the words. She hums quietly at the question, but issues him a small nod. "Alright. Our place." She swallows hard as if biting back some unspoken emotion. "Ours for at least two more hours." Her fingers interlace with his, and slowly, strangely, the haze returns.

The sound of traffic begins to enter into Marcus's ears, and the cool of the night creeps over him. It's slow at first. Flits of movement. But then quicker. Consciousness begins to draw over him once again.

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