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Slime didn’t think he’d get used to the ice cold bars of the jail cell against his back. Yet, here he is, sitting cross legged on the floor, paying the price of suffering the same twisted fate as his wife.
Except this time, he’s alone. No somber sound of Mariana’s harmonica and no second jail cell just to make the situation a little more bearable. Who would’ve thought he’d be pleading for what he got Mariana incarcerated for in the first place to Quackity?
Though the Mexican lawyer spared no mercy and pushed for the ultimate punishment for him to rot in jail, with Roier’s help and testimony, he was done for.
The best he could do is lie through his teeth and tell Juanaflipppa that he was just going to work far away while he was being taken away in handcuffs. With a pleading look towards Mariana, they leave him before Quackity throws a justified punch on the side of his face.
“Rot in fucking jail, asshole.” He spat with a rage that only a grieving parent possessed.
Slime knows what it’s like. If he was less insane and more levelheaded like Quackity, he would’ve done the same.
But this for the best. Slime wouldn’t want her to see him like this. The last thing he wants is for his daughter’s image of him to drastically change once he sees him in an orange jumpsuit that labeled him a killer, dehumanized and caged like an animal.
He deserved all of this.
A soft pitter patter of footsteps interrupts his quiet brooding.
“I already told you, I’m not hungry. Can you fucking leave me alone?”
“Even in jail, that’s still how you talk to your wife, mamahuevo?”
He looks up from his head buried between his arms, completely shocked by Mariana standing in front of him, before remembering that they didn’t really get to properly talk and say their goodbyes either. Slime drops the look on his face, easily slipping into the mask of indifference that he always wore around him whenever they get into the brink of an argument.
“Did you come here to gloat? To laugh at my face? I bet this is funny to you,” Slime turns away in shame. At the very least, he refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing the dreadful tears threatening to drip down his face. “You get to be with our daughter and you can be with Foolish, now that I’ll rot in jail. I know you wanted this to happen. I bet you’re happy.”
He doesn’t tell him how that’s been in his mind together with Juanaflippa, that no matter how hard he tries, Mariana will always have a place in his mind and heart. His bitch wife just had to burrow himself and rudely make a home in both places, incapable and selfish for not choosing one.
“Estas equivocado.” Mariana responded after a while. His tone is painfully reminiscent of the time he was just serving the same sentence. Slime bit his lip, stifling an unexpected sob from being wrenched out of him. “I didn’t come here to laugh. Flippa misses you.”
There’s an unspoken question that Slime prevented himself from asking.
“Yo también te extraño.” But Mariana answered for him anyway.
Slime twists around, wanting to know the answer despite what he tells himself. I miss you too , he reads, and below the translation, Mariana is looking at him like he’s devoting himself to be honest for once.
It catches him off guard for a brief moment, an audible gasp leaving his lips as he slowly stands up, carefully approaching the man he deemed to be his wife.
“Do you really? Or are you just saying that because Foolish rejected you again?” Slime had to ruin the moment. He can’t help it. Even when he’s hitting rock bottom, he cannot find it in himself to trust Mariana’s intentions. Not fully. Not yet. “What are you doing here exactly?”
Mariana rolled his eyes, something he always does in their endless arguments. “If you would shut the fuck up, I show you, motherfucker!”
His wife somehow produces a key in his back pocket, distracting Slime from turning his unexpected visit into a shouting match and possibly alert the security. Because now that he thinks about it, visitation hours ended before noon.
“What?” For once, he is at a loss for words as Mariana unlocks his cell.
“What? What are you doing?” He repeats, because this doesn’t make any sense. He already resigned himself to the fact that he’s in jail forever. So what is going on?
“I’m breaking you out? What does it look like?” Mariana stated, like it isn’t obvious enough for him (it isn’t), slightly frustrated that he even has to clarify.
Still, Slime remains rooted to the ground with so many questions piling on top of one another in his head. “But why?”
With a deep sigh, Mariana enters his unlocked cell, it forces him to back away a little, put more needed distance between them until he’s backed into the wall. Slime squeezes his eyes shut, expecting anything but a hand softly cradling his cheek.
“We were a happy family. Getting along and Juanaflippa’s happy,” Mariana leans closer, as if it isn’t enough he had his husband trapped between his body and the metal bars. “Podría amarte. Estaba empezando a. No voy a dejar que nadie me quite eso.”
When Slime reads the translation above his head, he violently blushes upon understanding the determined passion in his tone. His pulse picks up a little bit of speed, it’s been a long time it has done that without being fueled by anger and jealousy.
For once, he allows this moment of weakness to break him. He nuzzles into his wife’s touch, reveals the fear behind dying alone in a cold jail cell.
“I killed an egg because I wasn’t careful enough, Mariana. I don’t trust myself that I won’t do the same to our daughter.” He confessed brokenly. They just got her back, he couldn’t risk it.
“You think I don’t feel the same? I still let Roier tuck Flippa to bed,” Slime’s heart breaks a second time upon the image of his wife being unable to sing their daughter a lullaby or give her a kiss goodnight. “Entiendo mas que nadie, Slime. Pero cuidarla es más grande que tu miedo. She needs us.”
Mariana raised a good point.
They’re both guilty of the same thing, but at least one of them is a little bit braver than the other. Why did he even think running away and exiling himself was the better option? Authorities found him in the end, Quackity probably wouldn’t have demanded his life imprisonment if it wasn’t for his cowardice.
With an unsurprising amount of strength, Slime flipped their positions around so that Mariana’s back was against the wall. He roughly tugs at his shoulders and leans in for a desperate kiss that conveyed every single emotion he’s currently having. Fear. Anguish. Anger. Sadness. Lust. Hope. Happiness. It’s all there.
Just when his wife was getting into it, groaning softly against his mouth, Slime pulled away with an obnoxious smack of their lips.
“Since when did you become so wise? I’m not gonna lie, if you keep talking like that, we won’t be leaving this cell any time soon.” He joked, a poor attempt at lighting up the mood.
Mariana blinks, a startled look to him that Slime chuckles at.
“The court didn’t grant Tilin’s revival because I’m guilty of murder. I can’t just leave. It would be unfair to Quackity.” He mutters with a sad smile, the least he could do is serve his sentence, if not for Quackity then for Tilin.
“That’s why I’m breaking you out,” countered Mariana. Slime knows that the translator messes up sometimes and maybe his wife didn’t understand. He was about to say something about it when Mariana pressed a finger to his lips. “If the court can’t bring Tilin back, we know someone who might. Ese era tu plan inicial, si?”
He looks away, embarrassed that Mariana predicted accurately.
“I mean, I guess.” He mumbled. That was the plan before he was found. Jesus nor Satan, or any divine beings didn’t respond to his desperate calls though. “They—they didn’t show up.”
Before Slime could appear any more hopeless than he already is, Mariana pressed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Then we try again. Work together this time. Jesús nos debe una vida. Tilin puede tenerlo.”
It’s not like he hasn’t thought about every option imaginable just to bring Tilin back. Quackity asked him to be her godfather. She is his niece after all. He considers her like a second daughter, almost. But every time he thinks there’s a fighting chance to bring her back, he loses more faith and confidence that it would even be possible. If the gods can’t intervene, who can bring her back?
“We’ll figure it out.” voices Mariana, answering his doubts.
It must have been obvious on his face.
“Come on, mamahuevo. We can’t stay here all day. The guard is out cold but just to be sure.”
Slime lets his wife drag him by the hand. No fight, no argument to hold himself back. Something in Mariana’s eyes compelled him to believe and hope. Something’s different about him, or… Perhaps something’s different with Slime.
He holds a hand up to his chest, coping with a feel towards a heart that remained dormant for years, is now bursting with romantic emotion and affection for the man he can see himself love and cherish.
Stray tears streamed down his face and before he knew it, he was full on sobbing and he couldn't seem to stop. Mariana acts quickly, turning around to check him for any signs of injury.
“Estás bien? Estás herido?” There’s a litany of concerned Spanish that is too blurry and too fast for Slime to read. Instead, he turns putty in Mariana’s arms and they both collapse on the floor like a sinking ship.
Sweet nothings get whispered in his ear as he is gently rocked back and forth like a child.
Is this how he is as a dad? Is this what he almost deprived their daughter of? These are questions he wouldn’t normally ask himself in the presence of someone else, especially his wife, so caring for him even when he doesn’t have to.
Slime doesn’t have anything nice to offer. He doesn’t have a large house like Foolish and Vegetta’s, stability and security like Missa and Phil, let alone a single diamond to his name. No matter which angle he looks at, he knows Mariana could do so much better. In his silly stupid fucking head, he thinks threatening divorce and leaving him first would be easier than him realizing he is worth less than being told he could be loved.
The thought is too much to handle. Slime wraps his arms around his wife, tight and firm, like he’s concealing everything in the safety of their bubble, afraid of letting go.
“Estás bien. Estoy aquí. Te entendí…” Mariana is ever so patient with him. He keeps repeating these phrases until Slime is calm, slowly regulating his breathing and reducing his heart wrenching sobs into tiny sniffles.
“I have—I have so much to say to you.” He doesn’t even know where to begin, but he has to start somewhere. He watches their intertwined hands, likes how naturally it happens, the innocent touch not being given attention or any acknowledgment. They just want to.
Mariana squeezes him reassuringly.
“Tell me later. When we’re back at my house. We’re taking Flippa with us.”
Taking their daughter with them implied leaving and going someplace else. Slime doesn’t know where to go from here, but he trusts his wife now more than ever. He easily matches his sense of urgency, running out of the prison and disappearing behind the woods that lead to Mariana’s house.
Wherever fate takes them, he will follow.
Maybe he could get used to the warmth of Mariana’s hands too.