"Anya! Anya!!"

Somewhere, Marcus was shouting her name. No, he wan't shouting, was he? He was just saying it. He was right next to her, right in front of her. Maybe it just sounded loud, she did have a few glasses of wine tonight.

Tonight.

It had started with the awards ceremony. She accepted the Embry Star for her mother, who was killed five weeks ago at Aspho Fields. Marcus and Dom were there, too... accepting for themselves, and for their brother. Yes, their brother. Immediately she noticed the close bond that the Santiagos had with the Fenix heir, and it was almost unnerving how close Marcus was to even the kid brother, Dominic. But Marcus and the older one, Carlos, seemingly inseperable from birth, had served under her mother.

In that stuffy waiting room, they became instant friends. She hoped she would know them for a long, long time.

Then after the ceremony, Professor Adam Fenix, Marcus's dad, had invited all of them back to a fancy dinner at some posh hotel, which was uncomfortable for them all. It was largely quiet, but somehow she managed to down two glasses of wine. She was eighteen, after all.

The Professor broke the silence, speaking to Dom.

"Are you going to loan Carlos's medal to the regimental museum?" He asked, and Anya marvelled how insensitive he could be. Perhaps it was all-logic-and-no-feeling in his holier-than-thou brainstem.

"No, sir." Dom replied. "I gave it to my Mom and Dad. It's rightfully theirs now."

"Anya?" The Professor asked, taking her off guard. She trembled under his pressure for a moment, but she remembered the promise she made to herself, to her mother. She was going to make something of herself, and she couldn't do that as the shy little girl she had always been.

"No, sir." She said, firm but still polite. "It's all I have left of her, and I won't let strangers stare at it. I've had enough of public bereavement." Maybe it was just the wine talking, but whatever it was, it was the intellectual slap in the face that Marcus admired. She blushed, but only slightly, as he gave her a slow, sideways glance, the kind no one really notices unless you're looking. But Anya wasn't looking, she just knew.

"I understand." The cold reply came from Adam, not Marcus. "My apoligies for being crass."

Jeez, his father was such an ass. She would never tell Marcus that, not in a million years, but the way he said it was so cold and stiff that Anya just felt like dying. Marcus loved his father, she knew that. But how he stood that... that, cold, unfeeling stuff, she would never know.

He offered everyone coffee, but she just wanted to leave. This place with its stuffy waiters and starched tablecloths and fancy doo-dads hanging from the ceiling was above her head. Maybe not way above, but definetly above.

"I think I have to get back," Anya said, desprate to escape. She even tacked some nice, respectful thank-yous on to the end, but the real point was to just leave.

On her way out she wobbled a bit on her heels, the things were so damn inconvienient and she was sure it was the wine. Dom called her a cab and was going to see her home, but Maria was there and one thing was for sure -- Dominic Santiago never deserted his wife. So Marcus stepped in, taking her arm in a way-too-formal manner that reminded her he grew up in the airs of a place like this. It made her like him no less.

They rode to her Mom's apartment in silence. She had a few things to get together before handing the property over to the COG to be used as who-knew-what.

Which brought her to now.

"Anya." he was saying, "You alright?"

Which, of course, she wasn't. She was stuck looking at a picture of her mom, from back in her heyday, holding a head on a spear with the rest of her company cheering like barbarians behind her. No matter how hard her mom had been on her, Anya knew her mom loved her. Her mom had been proud of her at Aspho. And suddenly the five weeks of cushion between Major Stroud's death and now completely vanished, and the hurt felt as raw as it did when she called her own mother's Tango-four over the tac-com line.

Despite her best efforts, her eyes started to water.

"Anya." He said, and that was all he needed to say, and she found herself turning around into outstretched arms. However surprising a display of affection that was for Marcus, she knew he had a bit more wine in him than she did, which probably blurred his defense mechanisms.

In the softly lit apartment, she stood there in his strong embrace, arms pressed tightly into his chest and just bawling her eyes out like a five year old. It was embarassing, incredibly so, but she knew Marcus wouldn't judge her. His head rested neatly atop hers, and she knew she was probably getting makeup and snot and whatever else into his nice uniform, but he didn't seem to mind. His eyes were closed, just listening to her cry.

Later, she realized she had been crying for him, too. In a way, it was like her expression of grief had said enough that he didn't have that pent-up need anymore. Her release was also his.

Softly, when her big tears had turned back into small sniffles, Marcus spoke. She would never forget what he said, the vibrations in his throat stuck in her mind.

"Anya, as long as you're on my com line, I will not die on you."

It was a little blunt, which was Marcus's style anyway, but her eyes stung again with tears. She backed up from him, wiping away her running makeup and whatever else was on her face. She knew she looked horrible.

"I'm sorry," She sniffed, averting her eyes from him like an ugly heathen.

"Don't be. You got nothing to be sorry for." His voice was like tires on gravel, and for the life of her she could not understand why she liked it so much. Those icy blue eyes met hers, serious, pained, and definetly sober. He was actually handsome, attractive to look at... but of course she noticed that when she first saw him. But the fancy gelled hairstyle didn't suit him at all. She liked the skull cap he wore much better, and he was even starting to grow a little soulpatch on his chin.

"Thanks, Marcus," She sighed, walking over to the door. "I've got everything I'll need, but just for one last time, I think I'm going to sleep here tonight."

He caught her drift and followed her over. It was time for him to go, past midnight probably. She had cried a long time, and it was time to move on. He managed to grumble something to the effect of "sleep tight" as he looked at her again past the open door, when she gave him a peck on the cheek.

She'd never forget the way he blushed, either.