IV.
Halcyon
(Part Three)
...this city's become
the most beautiful thing I've seen.
Marcus swung one of the towering double doors shut behind him—more an art piece of glass and steel than a simple entrance—and winced at the sharp sound that echoed through the halls of the sprawling Fenix Estate. He strode up to one of the grand, sweeping staircases.
"Dad?" he called out, voice strained as if he was afraid the ancient marble floors would crack at the volume. "Dad! Are you home?"
Anya realized distantly that it was probably almost sunrise by now, but a responding voice echoed down instantly from above.
"Marcus? Is that you? Oh thank heaven, you're home. I've been trying to contact you all night! Where in God's name have you been?"
Anya fidgeted with the hem of her pencil skirt; it was clear that Marcus hadn't told his father he would be with a certain female companion for the evening. In his typical fashion, the Gear deftly steamrolled past the inquisition.
"Dad...Damn it, can you just come down? We need to talk."
The hurried tap-tap-tap of dress shoes on stone approached, and then Adam Fenix was standing atop the stairs. In spite of it being an ungodly hour of the night, the esteemed professor and former COG Major looked like he was ready to have his portrait painted.
"Marcus, have you heard the reports? I'm unsure what to even..." Adam bit his words off neatly as his arctic eyes—the very same as Marcus'—landed on Anya. "Oh. Anya. My dear, what are you doing here?"
The corners of Marcus' mouth twitched down in an unappreciative frown, but his back straightened and his chin raised slightly: imperceptible shifts in posture that suggested he'd cultivated a particular stance just for addressing his lofty father.
"I brought her back myself." God, even his voice sounded different around Adam. "With all the quakes happening, I didn't think the apartments would be safe."
All traces of indelicate surprise fled from Adam's face, replaced by a deadly seriousness that seemed like his default expression. "Nowhere is, Marcus. The entire planet is under attack." The professor started down the stairs, shaking his head grimly. "A carefully planned assault on a purely baffling scale. Textbook execution, really. What really amazes me is the sheer numbers these Locust seem to be emerging in..."
Anya's spine gave an involuntary shiver. "Is that what they're calling them? Locust?"
"Makes sense." Marcus seemed less perturbed; it was as if Adam's distant and scientific air was suddenly catching. He crossed his arms and leveled a calculating stare. "They're all consuming monsters, right? Chewing through everything, everyone. What I don't get is why Ephyra hasn't been hit yet."
"Neither has Jacinto, Tollen, and a few others." Adam stepped off the final stair and assumed a perfect mirror image of his son's posture. "Surely, though, you understand why."
Anya couldn't believe it: the apocalypse was evidently looming on the nearby horizon, and the wildly intelligent Fenixes were treating it like a routine chance to brush up on their geography. Marcus seemed to expect it, however. He stood for several moments, jaw working industriously back and forth, before the light of understanding flashed through his eyes.
"It's the granite substrata, isn't it?" He said with dark confidence. "They can't tunnel up through it to our cities."
Adam raised his tufted chin in an imperceptible nod, likely the only praise he ever gave. "Too right, my boy."
From her lonely place near the doors, Anya glanced from Fenix to Fenix. "Granite sub-what?"
"Substrata, dear," Adam explained patiently in his warmest professor tones. "The entire Jacinto Plateau rests over a solid plate of granite. I pray I'm not wrong, but so far, the Locust forces seem unable to breach the plateau."
There was a moment of dusty silence as the information took its sweet time settling over Anya's sleep-starved brain. "So we're safe, then?" she said at length. "Ephyra, Jacinto, Montevado...and all the rest?"
Father and son exchanged glances, the elder sighing softly.
"Like I said...I pray I'm not wrong."
Anya swayed. "Oh."
The relief coursing through her body was instantly replaced by a new injection of fear, and she was suddenly aware of an unfamiliar darkness at the outer rims of her vision. Before she could catch herself, her knees buckled slightly, and she felt herself stumble forward like a spindle-legged foal.
Both Marcus and his father lurched to catch her, but Marcus got to her first, snatching awkwardly at her shoulders before she could fall. Adam helped him hoist her up somewhat, his hand holding her chin like a concerned doctor.
"Breathe, dear. Just breathe." She felt his pallid eyes sternly scanning her. "Goodness, Anya, you're exhausted. How long has it been since you last slept?"
Using Marcus' chest to push herself back onto graceless feet, Anya pressed a palm over her eyes and shook her head. "A long time. I...had a bit to drink earlier, too."
From the corner of her hazy eye, the woman caught Adam flashing Marcus what might have been a look of mild dissent. However, the moment passed, and the professor gently cupped her elbow.
"But, of course, this is all too much. Perhaps you would like to rest in one of the rooms in the guest wing. Marcus, be a gentleman and show her, will you?"
"O-oh, I don't know..." Anya blinked, entirely unsure as to what the polite thing to do was. But just like back in Guilt & Co., Marcus intervened with flawless timing.
"You probably should rest," he admitted, brows making a concerned peak. "Come on, I'll take you."
"I...okay. Th-thank you, professor. You're very generous."
In all honesty, Anya had no desire to lock herself in some huge, lonely room at a time like this, let alone go to sleep, but Marcus seemed to know something. Adam, on the other hand, just seemed relieved at getting Anya to concede. As Marcus guided Anya towards a carpeted corridor to the left of the stairs, the professor sent what Anya could only imagine was a well-practiced we'll talk later stare after them.
After what felt like ages later, they emerged from the labyrinth of long hallways and into a wide common area. It was lit dimly by a single bronze, twisting chandelier, and each wall held the entrance to what Anya assumed were even more regally decorated guests rooms. They halted in the middle, near a stately arrangement of old globes and potted plants, but Anya remained glued to her escort's side. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how intimidating all this empty space really was. She coughed, then grimaced at the way the sound echoed somberly over the gold plaster. Hell, it was like living in a museum.
"Uh, so..." The woman found herself making a conscious effort to keep her voice down. "Does it matter which one?"
Marcus gave a one-shoulder shrug, eyes drifting lazily around the grand room. "Well, not really, but..."
She shuffled over the dull red carpet to the nearest pair of double doors—the one on the left—as he trailed off. Prodding open one of the panels, she turned around. He was staring intently at her.
"What?"
"That one." Marcus rubbed his neck, peering at the half-open doors. "Is...mine."
Anya blinked.
"You sleep in a guest room?"
"I...well, no. I moved out from my old room a while ago."
"Oh. Bigger?"
"Quieter."
"Okay, well..." Anya tucked a platinum strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll choose one of the other rooms, then..."
Marcus gave her a slow, careful glance. "Doesn't matter," he said, pausing for the barest second. "My room is less dusty."
Again, Anya found herself groping for words. This was not the Marcus she was accustomed to. She didn't know what disturbed her more; his sudden concern for dust mites, or the fact that he seemed to be willingly offering a glimpse into something as intimately private as his own room. She fiddled with her fingers.
"You...don't mind?"
"I don't think I would offer if I did."
Somehow, the usual airy silence of the manor deepened into something even more awkward. For several seconds, they just stared at each other, standing stiffly by the wide doorway, before Marcus merely reached out and pushed the doors open fully.
"After you."
Anya was stunned upon crossing the threshold, as if the room put up the same sort of invisible anti-outsider wall that its owner did. The room was huge, probably second only to the master suite itself as far as personal quarters went, with frosted glass windows that stretched from the polished hardwood floor all the way up to the soaring ceiling. However, less than a quarter of the floor space was being used; the king-sized bed had evidently been pushed into the far corner long ago, and everything else—the armoire, towering bookcases, and Marcus' personal effects—was clustered tightly around the bed. The only other piece of furniture was a lonely chaise lounge pulled in front of the enormous, ornately carved fireplace, with several stacks of books radiating outwards from it. The only source of light came from the gradually rising sun outside, its first amber rays filtering softly through the narrow windows.
Anya balked, stepping into the room proper as Marcus ambled in behind her. "Your room is twice the size of my entire apartment."
He made a small grumbling noise in his throat, as if that wasn't something he considered worth bragging about.
"Yeah, so...Make yourself at home, I guess." He gestured vaguely around, but the blank look on his face suggested he had little to no idea what to do with a woman in his room. Arms wrapped around herself, Anya perched cautiously on the edge of the chaise lounge and stared distantly into the fireplace's nest of unlit logs. It was then that she heard the scuff of boots on the opulent area rug and twisted around; Marcus was looking awkward and edging towards the door.
"You're going?" she blurted.
The tall Gear blinked at her from across the room, as if there was no other conceivable course of action, but she refused to let him off that easy and stared expectantly right back. The message must have gotten through that otherwise impenetrable veil of non-emotion, because Marcus heaved a sheepish cough and strode back.
"Sorry, I just thought you might want to lay down for a while," he confessed quietly as he slunk around the chaise. In an abstract moment, Anya noted that he moved very quietly for a man of his stature. "You seemed a bit...light-headed."
The high-quality furniture creaked as he eased his weight onto it. Wincing, Anya sighed and rested her cheek in her palm.
"Sorry about that. First time being welcomed in your house, and I nearly pass out in your foyer."
"It's not like anyone can blame you. This is...insane."
"Hah, good word for it." Anya shook her head morosely. It still hadn't sunk in yet, she knew instinctively. It would take days, maybe even weeks for the reality of everything to truly hit her. If anyone was familiar with the numbing side affects of shock, it was Anya Stroud. But for now, she could take comfort in that numbness, at least for a little while. "Thanks for catching me, by the way."
Marcus just looked mildly disturbed. "I almost ripped your arms out of their sockets."
She couldn't help but chuckle, though she was sure it sounded as forced as it felt. They sat in quiet resolution, silence settling stiffly around them as they ran out of the easy words to say. Distantly, Anya wished Marcus would light the fireplace just for the comfortable crackle of flames, but if the fine coating of dust on the logs was anything to go by, he didn't spend much time here as it was.
"Hey...Marcus?"
He swallowed, as if deliberately restraining from replying too quickly.
"Yeah?"
Her answer came in the form of action; on a leap of faith, she sidled over to him, the fabric of her skirt shifting on the chaise cushion as she closed the cold, empty space between them. He watched her every movement, his gaze cautious, yet not quite surprised when she reached out and laid her hand over his, gentle as a cat's paw.
"Thank you," she murmured, lashes dropped to her cheeks. "For taking such good care of me. I..." She paused, fumbling the words. "I'm not sure how well I would have handled this without you."
A long moment passed; she half-expected him to recoil out of sheer instinct, but he never budged. Instead, she felt his eyes slide like blue searchlights over her, and then his fingers suddenly curled around hers in a soft, almost reverent sort of way.
"Don't worry about it," came his usual mumble, dismissive and vague as ever, but it was enough for her. They remained motionless for a long moment, rediscovering their comfortable quietness and sharing in that old relief that, for that exact moment, they didn't have to be alone.
Suddenly, he flinched and pulled back.
"Oh, shit," he whispered, looking hard at Anya without really seeing her. "Dom."
Marcus looked suddenly miserable with guilt, and he melted away from her. Cold air rushed unwelcome into the space between them.
"Marcus?" she ventured, furrowing her brow and grasping back for his hand. "What do you mean?"
"I never called him. He'd better be okay. Shit." Shoving his hand into his pants pocket, he retrieved his cell, punched the numbers—entirely from memory, Anya noted—and tilted his head into the phone. Seconds dragged by, and the Gear's face fell further with every unanswered ringing tone.
He hung up, redialled, and waited for a second time. The same scene replayed twice more, Marcus getting more and more agitated with every unanswered call, before Anya tugged gently on his wrist.
"I'm sure he's fine, Marcus," she tried. "The sun's barely even risen, everyone's probably still asleep."
"But then they don't know about what's happened. I have to talk to him."
The fact that he couldn't herd all his friends into a single safe place where he could keep a close eye on them seemed to absolutely torture the man.
"They'll be recalling all the Gears soon, if they haven't already," Anya said, hoping he'd see the sense in her words. "We can meet up with him then, right?"
Some small measure of tension flowed out of Marcus' shoulders, as if he was calmed by the prospect of being able to fight this nightmare back—on his own terms. However, the weight returned almost immediately, and he gave his head an impatient shake.
"I'm trying again."
He hammered out Dom's number again, then held the phone to his ear, glaring absently into the fireplace. Anya gave his free hand a tiny squeeze. It was quiet enough for her to just make out the tense ringing tone; it repeated for nearly a minute before there was a click, and Marcus perked up.
"Dom, it's me. Where the hell are you? Have you seen the..."
He trailed off, frowning. "Hold it, Dom. Slow down, I can't understand a single thing you're..."
Slowly, Marcus raised his head. His hand went suddenly limp in her bracing grasp.
"Dom...you're not making any sense. Who's gone?"
The bottom of Anya's stomach fell out. Silence fell like a pall over the huge room; even the air itself seemed to grind to a halt. It felt like hours before Marcus finally broke the deafening quiet, but when he did, his voice was barely a scraping whisper.
"Oh, God, Dom. No."
He tore away from the chaise, his hand sliding numbly from Anya's. She watched him, her brain ripping through the list of possible tragedies; was it a relative of Dom's? One of their Gear buddies? Maybe it was just some famous politician, like Chairman Dalyell...
She jumped as the sound of a slamming drawer cracked through the air. Marcus was rooting through his armoire, his movements harsh and jerky as he searched for something. "Please...Dom, listen, you gotta calm down. I'm going to drive over, okay?" He drew a polished Snub pistol from the bottom drawer, checking the safety before wedging it snugly under his belt. Sick with fear and confusion, Anya rose from the chaise lounge to return to her companion's side. She touched his shoulder, but he didn't even seem to feel it.
"Dom...Dom. Please..." Marcus' voice was suddenly hoarse; there was a ragged edge to his words, an unfamiliar strain that iced Anya's veins. It was panic. "God, just...just wait for me. Please. I'll be there as soon as I can, I..."
No, this was not the death of a mere Chairman, Anya realized with a horrified jump of her heart. This was much, much worse. However, Marcus appeared to recognize his own gradual loss of control; he sucked down a tense breath and rubbed his eyes as he leaned into the phone a final time.
"Just...don't do anything stupid. Please. I'm coming."
The cell lingered at his ear, like he was afraid to put it down, but the single continuous tone of a disconnected line bored through the silence, and he flipped it closed at last. Torn between the need to comprehend the situation and her overwhelming desire to comfort her distraught friend, Anya squeezed Marcus' arm in an attempt to bring his gaze down. Even though he was still staring straight ahead, she could see his eyes were as cold as she felt.
"Marcus, what's happening?" she whispered, like loud noises might shatter him in this rare and vulnerable state. "Is Dom okay?"
He said nothing; it was like breaching the barrier between the living and the dead. She felt the pressure of her heightening dread on her spine and in her stomach, and stepped in closer, allowing a hand to stray to his face.
"Marcus, talk to me."
He flinched like her touch had scalded him, and turned a blank stare on her.
"It's Sylvia and Benny. They're..." Every syllable caught like a fishhook in his throat. "They're dead."
Anya felt her hand raise to her mouth of its own accord, fingers curling against her numb lips as the truth seeped over her. Sylvia and Benedicto, Dom's two tiny children, were dead; nothing could have possibly been worse.
Her heart broke for Dom and Marcus both. In the two years since she'd first met them, she'd come to understand the bone-deep bond between Marcus and the Santiagos; they were undeniably family. Brothers. And that meant that, reserved as he was, Marcus was almost an uncle to Dom's kids, just as much as Carlos had been in life.
"God, Marcus, I...I'm so sorry..."
She was still close enough to reach out and grasp his hand with both of hers. The empty, almost bewildered haze evaporated from Marcus' visage, replaced instead by that hard, stony expression he wore on the field of battle. Anya knew that look, and it made her miserable; she could feel her familiar, human Marcus slipping away, fading completely as he flipped to war machine mode.
For the second time that night, he pulled his hand out of Anya's.
"I have to go," he said evenly, and pushed past her to the door.
"M-Marcus, wait..." She remained glued to his side, trotting clumsily along as he strode out into the hall. "Maybe I should come, what if—"
She was no match for his size or strength; his determination made him steam-powered, and he continued to brush her off like she wasn't even there. "No, I'll go alone," he growled. "Stay here, and wait for the recall. I'll meet you at the CIC if I can."
"No, I don't want you to go alone. I should come with you, I should—"
With shocking agility, he spun on her and took her firmly by the shoulders.
"Dom just lost his kids, Anya. He's losing his mind, and Maria's looking for a gun to put to her head." His acid eyes raked her face. "I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do, but I know he needs me. His brother."
Anya stared up wide-eyed at the stranger gripping her, but as much as it hurt, she finally understood. They were brothers, and this was Marcus' sworn duty, and she was only in the way. Of course.
"Marcus," she whispered, standing stock-still under his bruising hold. "You're hurting me."
He stared at her, then the red mist cleared from his vision, and he quickly withdrew his offending hands. Releasing a truly exhausted sigh, the man rubbed his jaw, suddenly looking years older.
"Just stay here. Where I know you're safe."
She gave him a reluctant nod, reaching up to her shoulders to touch the manhandled muscles. Realizing there was nothing she could offer him, the woman scrapped up what she hoped was a reassuring smile and stepped away. "It's okay. You're right; Dom needs you," she said. "Go."
If Marcus was relieved by her surrender, he gave no indication, just set his jaw and nodded back. "You'll be recalled soon. Keep a radio on. Dad can call a taxi for you if you need—"
Anya waved him off. "I'll be fine. Go." She opened her mouth, on the verge of saying more, but the increasingly impatient look on Marcus' face made her shut it again. Their eyes remained linked by a thread for a moment longer.
"Okay...I'll see you when I see you," he said finally, then turned and made off down the corridor. Anya watched, silent and alone, as her Gear jogged away into the shadowy halls, then turned a corner and disappeared completely. She bit her lip and closed her eyes.
"See you when I see you."
end.