(Didn't get this notif. Apologies!)
"Hey..." Eyes widened when she clutched at him. He'd been expecting her to pull away, possibly get irate or pushy about not being touched. After so many years at the gig, he'd seen his fair share of violence from drunk women as well as men. Vomiting was usually enough to take the fight out of someone, but it wasn't always. Women especially didn't care to be approached when they were in vulnerable states. Didn't want to be seen being sloppy. Marcus could relate. When he was drunk enough to be a fucking mess, he didn't tend to appreciate anyone's help.
But there were no traces of humiliation here. No, the fear in her face was real. A panic attack, just like he'd initially thought. Marcus had witnessed the same sort of shaking from the resident surgeon during a storm, once upon a time. He'd reacted similarly then, too. Struck by the large man's sudden tremors and obvious distress, Marcus had offered help. A distraction. A drink. A strange, fleeting moment that had left him feeling oddly protective of the doctor, if not willing to have any sort of regular contact.
Surgeons were a sore spot for Marcus. He didn't like to be around them much at all... and Bryant O'Neill had a difficult time not talking about his fucking profession.
Still, Marcus knew a thing or two about irrational fears. That didn't completely explain the state the woman was in. For Frankenbrit, the trigger had been the weather. Marcus couldn't see what she was freaking out about. The place was exactly like it always was, and she'd been there enough times before.
"What is it, chica? Something get to you?" His brow furrowed as he looked at her, waiting for actual sounds to come out of her mouth. Her lips were moving, so she was halfway there, but it wasn't happening. Then she was tugging at him, and it reminded him absurdly of his cousin. She wasn't all that strong, but Marcus responded to the desperation. He let himself be pulled, taking careful steps as she guided them to the exit. "All right... Show me, then."
He wanted to know. Hell, he needed to know. That was his fucking job description. Granted, she still might just be pulling him out to her car, so that he could drive her home or whatever... but Marcus had given up on the idea that this was something simple. Routine. Simple shit didn't strike a woman speechless with fear. As he let her pull him, he steeled himself for something awful.
The harvester had been the worst thing Marcus had dealt with at the Door, during the span of his career. It had been some kind of special order, and had escaped confinement shortly after being brought in. The creature collected hearts, and it was designed to tear through a ribcage in seconds so that it could savor the organs while they were still beating. They'd subdued it relatively quickly, but it hadn't been easy, and the mess had been excessive. Marcus credited the fucking heart harvester for many of his nightmares.
When he finally saw the body in the parking lot, his first thought was that another one had shown up. There wasn't nearly enough blood, and the body was far too intact, but it was still what his mind decided to latch onto.
"Oh... fuck." The word was insufficient, and he seemed to choke on its inadequacy. It was his turn to tighten his grip on the girl, as if he could force everything to stay within the confines of normalcy by holding onto her. He scanned the body first, but didn't move in close enough to identify it. Not his fucking job, and he was more concerned with the living than the dead. The parking lot seemed quiet, but harvesters were good at hiding. He crouched down a little to be at eye level with the woman, trying to get her to meet his gaze directly.
"You see what did this?" The intensity of his tone and his facial expression could have been taken for anger. Fear looked very much the same on him as rage. "What the fuck happened?"