He doesn't even remember the portrait of Tim in there until Damian starts flipping through it. The first flash of red is just that Damian is touching it, that he's holding onto the oldest thing Marcus owns, the only weapon and only shield he's ever had. Then he realises what he's looking for, makes a quiet noise of alarm. "That — " Flushing angry, embarrassed, teeth back on show, Marcus twists to face Damian and says, "That's mine. Fuck's sake, I — we —"

The explanation is reasonable, is the worst thing. It just sounds absolutely insane. "Listen. Listen, don't just scream at me. We met through work," he says, "months ago, we — he helped me with a case. A family in Paucity, a girl who — it doesn't matter. We...kept in contact." He hears that come out of his mouth and laughs, hard and hurting, a short sharp noise that scrapes his throat on the way out. What's wrong with him, that he can't just say what he means? That this, out of everything in the situation, is what trips him up? "God. No. I mean. I — we've been together since." Clumsy, awkward phrasing. He's numb with nerves, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "This? All of this? Me being here? Just bad luck, or maybe God's having a laugh at my expense. Take your pick. But this ain't what I wanted, I don't want any of this fucked-up vigilante shit, don't want to do anything that drags him back into it, don't want to hurt him. Now give me my fucking Bible."