Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was a time when David loved few things more than hearing a semi-familiar voice exclaim, “David Rose?” in a public place and then turning around to see which adoring acquaintance of an acquaintance was standing before him. These days, however, David enjoyed this experience much less. He could think of only two possible outcomes of running into a long lost acquaintance in and around Schitt’s Creek: 1) the person in question had only the intention of degrading David in that incredibly annoying and shockingly transparent “well, this is the last place I every thought I’d run into you” kind of way, or 2) the person would dredge up awful memories of his life before Schitt’s Creek, before Patrick.

If he was being truly honest with himself, David realized that the most likely scenario was really a combination of the two outcomes, but it was really just too depressing to let his mind go there.

So when David heard the tinkle of the bell above the door at Rose Apothecary one slow Thursday afternoon followed by an incredulous, “It can’t be—David Rose?”, he knew he was in for a world of trouble. He spun around from where he was organizing the new shipment of alpaca wool mittens and scarves—Patrick had unboxed them and had done a truly horrendous job—a smile plastered on his face as he prepared to greet the owner of the voice.

“Marshall Robbins,” David said with false cheer. “I haven’t seen you since we crashed Idris Elba’s midnight yacht party in Mykonos.”

Marshall strode across the room and crushed David against his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of David with his intensity. “Oh, darling, I think you’re forgetting quite a few…rendezvous after that night. Don’t tell me our little dalliances meant so little to you.” Marshall booped David on the nose with his forefinger.

David hadn’t, in fact, forgotten said rendezvous. Rather, he’d intentionally omitted them from conversation in a vain hope that Marshall had developed at least a marginal sense of discretion and some level of self-awareness over the past decade and a half.

It was abundantly clear to David, who was still squashed awkwardly against Marshall’s vegan leather jacket, arms limp by his side, that Marshall had not changed an iota since their actual last encounter.

David squirmed against Marshall, who finally released him. David took a large step back. “What…what are you even doing here?” He asked, cursing Twyla, who he assumed had trapped Patrick in a morose tale of one of her relatives’ demise while Patrick was picking up a very late lunch. It was the most logical explanation for why Patrick had been gone for so long.

“Oh, David,” Marshall said with a syrupy smile, “that’s no way to talk to a paying customer, now is it?” His voice took on that sing-songy lilt that David had once found charming, but which now made his teeth grind.

“I didn’t happen to notice you buying anything, actually,” David sassed, working hard to keep his expression neutral at worst, disinterested at best.

Marshall rolled his eyes. “You haven’t given me much time to peruse your wares, now have you, with all your chattering about?”

David clenched his fist and took a deep breath. “By all means—go peruse.” He retreated behind the counter, twisting his fingers together as he fought to remain calm and not let his mind slip back to the actual last time he’d seen Marshall. The insults and degrading remarks Marshall had hurled at David with the sole intention of humiliating David in front of Marshall’s cronies. The number of times David said “no” and “stop” that Marshall simply ignored. The sharp blows to his body that Marshall insisted turned David on, even as David begged him to stop. The moment David woke up alone in an unfamiliar room, feeling fuzzy and dazed, his wallet and phone gone.

“David, David, David,” Marshall trilled, trailing a long, slender finger across a neat row of plant-based soaps and shampoos. “What a…quaint little store you have here. So bucolic. Though that might be giving this little dump of a town too much credit.” He winked at David, as though they were both in on a very funny joke.

David clenched his jaw. “I’m proud of the life I’ve created here,” he said quietly, barely able to gather enough courage to make it through one sentence.

Marshall laughed pityingly. “You don’t have to lie to me, David—or to yourself. I know how you once lived. This is nothing compared to that.”

“Maybe,” David agreed, “but I’m happy now.”

“Happy?” Marshall said, as though David were a very small child with no sense of the word. “Don’t delude yourself, David.”

David pressed a palm to his eyes. “I’m different now,” he said, reminding himself of the words he’d spoken to Ted about Alexis’s growth on the first day of Singles’ Week all those years ago. He was only a little surprised to realize just how true that statement was. He was different now. He was softer, kinder, more generous. True, he was still snarky and dramatic, with the tendency to be self-centered, but he’d grown. He’d changed. He wasn’t the scared, insecure man that Marshall had bullied and abused and abandoned.

The bell over the door chimed, and relief flooded David’s chest when he saw Patrick walk in, a brown bag from Café Tropical in one hand. “Apparently Twyla’s second cousin is convinced that her new dairy cow is psychic,” he said with a chuckle, not having sense the tension in the room yet. His smile faded when he saw David’s furrowed brow and the way his arms were crossed tightly over his chest. He dropped the bag on the counter and slid an arm around David’s waist, kissing his cheek. “Who’s this?” He asked, gesturing to Marshall.

“An old acquaintance,” David said tightly, just as Marshall responded, “A former lover.”

Patrick let out a breath. Over the years David had slowly begun to share some of his past traumas with Patrick. It was usually only under the protection of their dark bedroom, Patrick’s arms wound tightly around David, David’s face buried in Patrick’s neck, that David would be able to divulge his pain and recount the times he’d been hurt by friends and lovers. In those moments, Patrick would just listen, his heart breaking at the tremor in David’s tentative whisper, wishing that he could take away the pain and insecurity inflicted upon David by callous, uncaring people who didn’t recognize David Rose for the beautiful person that he was.

Patrick’s arm tightened around David, and he glanced up in an attempt to ascertain David’s emotional status. David smiled slightly, letting Patrick know that he was okay. “Patrick, this is Marshall. Marshall, this is my husband, Patrick.”

“Husband?” Marshall said, unable to hide his surprise. “Well who would have thought?”

“So you’re Marshall.” It was a statement from Patrick, not a question. He remembered quite clearly the night David had told him about Marshall; it had taken nearly an hour of Patrick murmuring how much he loved David and kissing him gently and stroking his back for David to calm down enough to fall asleep after he completed the story.

“Oh, he’s told you about me! How charming!” Marshall clapped his hands together, apparently overcome with delight at this revelation.

David and Patrick just stared at him blankly, unable to understand how a human being could be so incredibly oblivious to the fact that he was not welcome within a hundred miles of the two people in his presence.

It was David who finally broke the silence. “Marshall, you need to leave.”

Marshall laughed as though it were a joke.

“I’m serious. You are not welcome in my store or even in my town, for that matter.” David surprised himself at the steadiness of his voice and attributed it mostly to the solid presence of Patrick next to him.

Marshall rolled his eyes. “Let’s not let ill will over a breakup gone bad ruin what should be a lovely little reunion, David. Honestly, what are the chances of us happening upon each other like this? It must be fate!”

“It’s not ‘ill will,’ Marshall,” David snapped, “and it wasn’t a breakup gone back. You assaulted me. You allowed your friends to assault me—you encouraged them to! And then you robbed me and left me alone in some random apartment in Reykjavik. Fate did not bring you here today, but I am asking you to leave.”

Marshall sputtered a bit, not used to anybody talking back to him or calling out his vile behavior, and especially not David Rose. “I see,” he said icily, “that we have…different versions of events of what happened in Reykjavik.”

“You are delusional. Completely delusional. You may not be able to see yourself for what you are, but I see how ugly and degrading and disgusting of a human you are. Get out, Marshall. Now.” David was shaking now, but his voice remained strong.

Marshall sniffed haughtily and finally stormed from the shop without another word.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, Patrick gathered a now sobbing David in his arms and held him tightly against his chest. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I love you so much, David Rose.”

David trembled against him for a few more minutes as he fought to regain his composure. “That was really hard,” he said eventually, wiping his eyes.

“I know it was,” Patrick said soothingly, kissing David softly and stroking his hair. “But you did it, because you are strong, David. Stronger than you ever give yourself credit for.” David just nodded, his eyes still a little teary. “Why don’t we close up a little early and go home? It’s been a slow day, anyway.”

David nodded again, grateful beyond words that Patrick instinctively understood what he needed. They quickly went about their routine of closing up the store, and then Patrick held David’s hand tightly as they walked to the car. The short drive was quiet, but Patrick could practically feel David vibrating with the need to be close to him. Once in their apartment, David wasted no time in shucking off his shoes—the haphazard heap he left them in spoke volumes about his current preoccupied state—and crawling into bed.

Patrick followed him a moment later after placing David’s shoes neatly in the closet alongside his own (he knew that later David would be disgusted with the lack of care he’d shown for his footwear, and he wanted to spare him the frustration). The moment Patrick settled on the mattress, David rearranged himself so that his head was nestled against Patrick’s chest, every inch of them pressed together. David idly stroked Patrick’s chest, as Patrick ran a soothing hand across David’s back and shoulders.

“I deserved better,” David said quietly. “Better than all the shit I got before I found you.”

“Yes, David, you did,” Patrick agreed. “You deserved—you still deserve—kindness and gentleness and love and protection. You deserve so many good things, baby.”

David pressed a kiss to the underside of Patrick’s jaw. “I get more than I deserve with you.”

Patrick smiled slightly. “You deserve everything,” he whispered.

“You are everything, Patrick.”

Patrick kissed David’s brow and held him closer until, entwined together, their heartbeats synced as one, they drifted off to sleep.