Neverwinter Forest gentleman prefer blondes but i'm not classically trained

Hoping for @Mal - I will open it up if you can't make it! Drama with no warning because I wanted to see how it went. :P Backdated to just after this thread.

Markus came barreling into Neverwinter, breaking through the border with loud crashes and running blindly into the familiar scent and warmth of the wood. His home enveloped him, the place where he slept and ate and patrolled and lived. Yet it did not calm him. He had only wanted to be home - had run from the Glen without ever seeing where he was going. Now that he was here, the forest was not putting a stop to his anxiety. He skidded, finally, to a halt deep within the territory and his breathing came out in quick, sharp gasps. 

His lungs were burning, his eyes prickling. He had, clasped in his jaws, the torn and tattered ear of the rabbit. He had never let it go. His jaws parted slowly, his shallow breathing becoming louder now that he was panting them to the sky freely. The ear dropped with a slightly wet, too heavy thud. Markus starred at it for a very, very long time. In his mind, he saw the dark woman and her omega. He felt the bruises in a vague way - he would be truly sore tomorrow, for now he only had secondhand feeling of them. He had a few bites on his lower foreleg that bled pitifully but otherwise...he was physically unhurt.

Somehow, that made it worse. 

The rabbit, the beating, the pride, the pain, the food, the fight - it twisted in his mind, replaying over and taunting him and shredding him and mocking him and scaring him. He had come back with nothing. He had gone out, he had gotten for his pack - when had it become his? When had he come to feel this was home? - and they had taken it from him. Easily. Too easily. He was useless, he was stupid - why had he come back here? What good was he here, or anywhere? He couldn't even bring the pack one useless, stupid, flea-bitten rabbit.

His eyes snapped shut, his head ducked to tuck against his chest as he trembled. A sob wracked through his body before his voice rose - a screaming, ripping sound in the otherwise quiet air - "FUCK!"

There was every chance Mal would have just gone on by had he not heard the curse.  He had a few little routines and didn't waver from them too much -- mostly because he was pretty sure he'd figured out things to do, so going [i]against/i] the things he knew was kinda risky.  Well, not really risky, but it was more likely to throw him for a loop and he wanted to keep up appearances of knowing exactly what he was doing.

Spoiler: he was mostly guessing.

Either way, he froze.  Blinked. That was Markus, wasn't it?  He turned to investigate, taking a couple of steps in that direction, pausing again.  Sounded a bit more serious than a stubbed toe or something, but what if he didn't want anyone checking in?  Or something.  Hell if Mal knew.  His behavior at times was more befitting a hermit than a pack wolf, but mostly due to lack of education.  Whatever.  He could at least pass by, right?  Mal turned and wandered that way, careful and making sure to try to spot Markus first. 

And he did, calling out, Markus?  What's up?  The spotty yearling certainly wasn't being bold about it.  If it turned out he wanted space, it'd be easy enough to go elsewhere.

The panic and self loathing felt like acid in his stomach - it left a bitter, numbing taste on his tongue. He screwed his eyes shut tight, his jaws clamped like a vice against any more outburst - any sound. He was failing. The sobs and growls slipped between his teeth as if they were made from nothing - lighter than air. He could not stop the tears, though he did not try as hard with them. The effort of restrain shook his body violently. He knew he would scream again...though he did not want to. Even lost in anguish and anger and shame, Markus did not want attention or to burden. Especially not when he'd already fucked up so royally. Not when he -

"Markus?  What's up?"

Hot, ugly panic dropped into his gut like a stone. The world froze, the sound in his ears became a deafening roar of static as his eyes shot open and he stared, unseeing, at the ground. He saw spots at the very corner of his vision - his body threw itself into fight or flight...and then went nowhere, did nothing. Not him, not him, NOT HIM. It was a mantra, like a prayer, but it went unanswered. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding and he turned slowly to look at Mal, pupils dialated with fear, fur caked with the saliva of that bitch alpha, his hackles on end, his breathing ragged.

He was so pretty to Markus. Markus hated himself. Why did these thoughts come so unbidden and honest now, of all times? No - why did they come at all? Mal had never given him so much as a double glance, what was wrong with him? It was all too much. Suddenly, shaking began again and Markus took a heavy, pitiful step toward Mal. His whole body slumped as if weighted and the fear was replaced like whiplash with agony and shame, instead.

"I'm s-sorry." He cried, ears pinned flat against his head. And he was sorry - for oh, so much. "I don't mean to and I - I...I didn't mean to lose the-the-" he swallowed, an odd strangled noise in his throat "rab-bit. They too-took it...I couldn't...I tried..." he made no sense and his words came out between hiccuping breathes like dry sobbing - though tears still streamed down his face.

Mal was not good with emotions -- other than anger, that was about the only one he had totally figured out.  Everything else was some grand mystery, so it was probably unsurprising that there was a slight look of bewilderment (maybe a little bit of panic too) because when it came right down to it, Mal didn't know what to do about a lot of things.  Hell, he didn't know a lot about himself because he'd been too busy being angry to say much about anything else.

There were some scenarios where someone was crying that he could understand -- maybe they had been hurt or whatever, but considering most of the overly-emotional wolves he knew were the ones he detested, he wasn't sure what to make of it when someone who'd been reasonably stoic had also gone and cracked.  But what was he supposed to do?  Nobody'd been a good example for him -- when wolves had tried to comfort him as a child, their words had been full of empty promises.  Hell, he didn't even know what was going on here!  His weight shifted, forward, back, not knowing if he should go forward or leave.  He stayed put in the end, frozen. What--?  Wait, like what happened?  Here? Who did what? The whole thing was a little disjointed. Mal was doing his damnedest to still pretend he wasn't a clueless buffoon, but from his verbal flailing, wasn't it obvious that's what he was?  Maybe answers would like... Make things go faster or something and uh, make it less awkward?  Oh please make it so!  He was mentally wriggling like a beached fish.