A/N: Antonio's a hot mess. Really. I mean I would be too but he needs a healthier coping method. It's coming soon… Antonio's fate shall be decided! Okay I really have nothing to say today.

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

~William Shakespeare

Chapter 14 – Two Months

Antonio dreamed of the sea. It was dark and stormy; lightning flashed silently overhead followed by low groans of thunder. He was on one of his father's trading vessels; the mast, a young girl in a billowing summer dress, was revealed in a flash of light. Bella Donna, his father's lightest and fastest ship. It was the one he was on when he set out for Cuba a few months ago.

Enormous black waves crashed against the side of the ship, throwing it back and forth, smashing the wooden banisters and snapping soaked rope. As far as Antonio could see he was alone on the ship. Where was the crew? Antonio was thrown against the port side where he clung desperately to the railing. His arms ached and nausea rolled through him. Sea spray stung his eyes and throat… Why wasn't he tied to the mast? His father always made sure he was below decks or tied to the mast during a storm…

A monstrous wave rose over Antonio, a wave so huge that it seemed to extinguish the lightening in the sky. He cried out as he felt the ship tip on its side and his hands lose their grip on the banister. He was falling into the water, falling, falling…

Antonio sat up with a ragged gasp of terror. His heart raced as he looked around him. He was in his room, on the floor, and soaked through to the skin. The nausea stayed with him, as well as a pounding head ache, and he thought he might vomit.

Gratiano stood above him with an empty tin pail, his expression one part pity and one part disgust. "That should sober you up." Antonio looked at the empty wine bottle next to his right hand and shoved it away. He must have gotten drunk again last night… He couldn't remember.

"What do you want, Gratiano?" he muttered testily. His whole body hurt from sleeping on the floor and now he was cold and wet.

"I want you to start showing a little dignity, to begin with," Gratiano said sharply. Antonio couldn't meet his normally jovial friend's glare. His cheeks burned with shame; highborn respectable gentlemen didn't get so drunk that they lose all memory of the previous night. He didn't even make it to the bed this time.

"You'll have to excuse my behavior," he muttered, using the edge of his bed to pull himself to his feet. His body felt like it weighed double its normal amount. His vision spun and he had to sit on his bed to keep from losing his balance and falling to the floor again. "I'm-"

"Worried for Bassanio, I understand," Gratiano sighed.

So you must love him, too, if you truly understand. I'm sorry, my friend- it's a truly terrible and wonderful burden to bear.

"I'm more worried about my father," Antonio lied, hoping Gratiano would blame his red cheeks on the wine. "He was supposed to come into port weeks ago, and he always writes home when he does to let Mother and I know he is safe. I should have heard from him by now."

"I hope you hear from him soon, but what do you suppose your father would say if he saw you in this state?" Gratiano asked. "You've ignored your family's business and have been attempting to drink yourself into an early grave with increasing frequency, if the gossiping of your housemaids holds any truth."

"My father has associates who will keep the business running even if there is no member of the Romano house to direct them," Antonio muttered, trying to rub a few painful knots out of the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

"You will be in charge of your father's business after her passes, which hopefully won't be for a very long time," Gratiano sat down on the edge of Antonio's bed with him, "but the captains, trading partners, and investors need to know that you are capable of running the business. They'll all switch to a different company if they think you are just a lazy boy who will drink away all their money. Lord knows you have enough competition. This is Neo Venice- We have more ships than houses!"

"I know all of this," Antonio muttered. He felt exhausted; he needed to sleep, and not the kind of sleep gained by draining the family cellar.

"Really?" Gratiano squinted at him. "You have been acting completely irresponsible lately! This is not the Antonio I know."

"Then maybe you don't know me as well as you think," Antonio snapped. "My parents want a strong son and heir to the estate. Bassanio needs a strong friend to keep him out of trouble. But how am I supposed to be strong when none of them are here?!" He let out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Gratiano stared at him, surprised by his outburst. But he just smiled and squeezed Antonio's shoulder.

"Just because they are not within arm's reach does not mean they are not with you," he said softly, "and it doesn't mean that you have to stop being strong for them. In fact, it is more important that you be strong in their absence than it is when they are here."

"Pretty words," Antonio said wryly. "You should become a bard."

"I would make an excellent bard," Gratiano agreed, "but don't try to get me off topic. You need to learn to be strong for yourself. In this life we lose people. Your parents will eventually die, Bassanio will get married and Portia will start popping out beautiful blonde babies with green eyes, and saddest of all, I will eventually leave Neo Venice to find love. I want a girl who smells of flowers, not salt. Stop living for others, my friend. You were born into wealth and power and status- use it! Make a name for yourself! Marry a princess, take lots of lovers, build your father's company into an empire so that your sons and bastards can fight over it, rule Neo Venice. You have the opportunity and means to build a grand life for yourself. Is this how you want to spend your days, hung over and miserable?"

"Of course not," Antonio whispered, surprised at how much his friend's speech moved him.

Gratiano beamed, his faith in his friend restored. "Then let's get you cleaned up! I have a present for you, but I need you to do something for me first."

"Such as?"

"The Duke of Rutland will be returning to the manor by five hours past midday to negotiate a contract with you. He was offended when you refused him the first time, but my father pulled some strings. The Duke now believes that you thought you were showing symptoms of the plague, so he was sent away for his own safety. Now that you are sure the danger has passed, you welcome him and his business back with open-armed enthusiasm."

"That doesn't give the staff much time to prepare for a visitor," Antonio said worriedly.

"Don't worry," Gratiano waved his hand, "your staff has known of this meeting for days. I only stopped by to make sure you were sober enough to receive him, and I'm glad I did! So get dressed, go for a ride, and prepare to welcome your guest!"

"Where are you going?" Antonio asked as Gratiano headed for the door.

"Worry not, I shall return tonight with your present after he leaves," Gratiano laughed.

"Gratiano," Antonio murmured. Gratiano turned around; even in his disheveled, pathetic state, Antonio's low voice held a certain authority that could not be ignored. Maybe it was because he was a son of the second wealthiest man in Neo Venice, or maybe it was a greatness that was Antonio's alone, but there was power in his words. When Antonio spoke, people listened.

"Thank you for bringing me to my senses," he murmured sheepishly. "I had not realized how low I had fallen. You are a good friend… Why don't you come riding with me? It's been a while since we've ridden together."

Gratiano smiled softly and gave his friend a sweeping bow. "I would be honored, my lord."

The Duke of Rutland was very gracious when accepting Antonio's humble apologies for cancelling their meeting earlier that month.

"A good salesman is a patient one," the broad-bellied English nobleman chortled. Antonio spoke Spanish, French, and English, as well as his native Italian tongue, but by far English had been the most difficult to learn. The English had nonsensical words sprinkled throughout their language like a chef sprinkles sage on chicken; it was as if the English were trying to make themselves harder to understand on purpose. But no language was more difficult to dissect than the massacred English spoken by the Americans. Good Lord, what a nightmare.

The Duke was an amiable man, even more so after he had a few glasses of sweet red wine in his belly. They discussed business well into the night; Antonio only divulged enough information to be polite and approachable. Every potential client or partner was a potential asset to a rival company.

During a modest but decadent four-course meal for the Duke, his attendants, Antonio, and a few of his father's business partners discussed trade routes, goods to be exchanged, rates, taxes, and so forth. It was well into the night before they had settled on terms acceptable to all. The Romano family's business lawyer, who had been present during the dinner, would spend the next few days writing up a contract. Before the Duke returned home, they would read, revise, and eventually sign the contract. Upon Antonio's father's return, Alvise Romano would sign the contract as well and officially seal the four year renewable contract. If Lord Romano did not return… Antonio's signature would be binding.

English medicine, texts, and technology such as the motorized vehicles they were starting to invent would be exchanged for Italian meats, wines, garments, and art. A good trade; his father would be proud. Gratiano returned just after a happy, slightly intoxicated Duke retired to the manor of a friend where he was staying.

"How did it go?" Gratiano asked as he took a glass of white wine with his friend in Antonio's study.

"Very well," Antonio sighed happily, "although the Duke failed to bring a translator. He doesn't speak a word of Italian so I did the translating all night. I'm exhausted…"

"I can well imagine," Gratiano laughed. "I must say it cheers me to see you in good spirits again."

"I think I needed something to get me out of my head," Antonio admitted.

"That is why God created women my friend!" Gratiano grinned, "Speaking of good things, I have your present. It's here in my pocket…"

"Must be a small woman," Antonio teased.

"You are a scoundrel, my lord," Gratiano said in an offended voice, and produced a letter with his usual theatric flair. "This arrived for you this morning. I intercepted it, hoping it would motivate you incase my speech didn't."

"You should never have doubted yourself, Gratiano," Antonio smiled as he took the letter. His smile disappeared when he recognized the small, neat handwriting on the envelope. The paper was rough and brown, with bits of plant fiber woven in with the cloth. Only his name and address were on the cover. Plain white wax sealed the envelope.

"It's from Bassanio, isn't it?" Gratiano asked.

Antonio nodded. His chest felt tight and his hands began to tremble.

"I'll give you some privacy," Gratiano murmured. "Goodnight, Antonio."

"Thank you," Antonio breathed. He stared at the cheap brown ink his name was written in; he didn't even notice when Gratiano walked out. He cracked the wax, drew out the letter, and began to read:

My dearest friend,

I cannot tell you where I am writing from, for I feel this letter might be intercepted before it reaches you. Be assured that Portia, Nerissa, and I are safe. Nerissa and I-

The words blurred together until he couldn't see. Antonio covered his eyes with his hand and wept silently for a moment, utterly overwhelmed by emotion. Bassanio was safe. They had accomplished their mission and were heading home. He would see his beloved friend again. Thank you God… Thank you… He continued reading as soon as he'd regained control of himself:

Nerissa and I suffered significant injuries during our journey, and we are recuperating in a small farming village not too far from the rendezvous point. They are taking excellent care of us- we have been very blessed. Portia is suffering from acute amnesia, she can't remember anything since the night of our engagement, and so had no recollection of her time spent captive. A blessing I suppose. I know how this came to be, but I can't explain it in this letter. You probably wouldn't believe me if I did. I'll give you the details when I see you next, which should not be very long after you receive this. I cannot describe how much harder this journey was without you by my side. It will be good to see you again.

-B

P.S. When we finally faced the kidnapper I did not recognize her, but she was wearing a signet ring. Do you recognize it?

Antonio focused on the small sketch of a square signet ring with an 'S' inlaid in the head on the ring. It did not seem familiar, but he could always show the sketch around the town to see if it belonged to any of the local houses.

But a woman kidnapped Portia? That was the most surprising piece of information in the letter. The whole kidnapping had been curious and questionable, but Antonio had hypothesized that it was one of House Belmont's rivals that had taken their eldest daughter, and a man at that.

Antonio retired to his bedroom with the letter. He undressed and read the letter by candle light over and over until he had memorized every word. With the knowledge that his friend was safe, he fell into a deep, restful sleep.

Antonio awoke the next morning after a blissfully dreamless sleep with a light heart. All his worries had been banished by Bassanio's letter, which he read again as he took his breakfast alone in the main dining room. His staff was visibly relieved to see their young master so hale after being withdrawn for almost two months.

The Romanos always treated their staff kindly, were gracious with pay and bonuses should any member the staff fall under hard times, and they always kept full employment so no one would be overworked. Many of them had been hired before Antonio's birth and had watched their lord's son become a man, and they were very fond of him and his family. It pained them to see him suffer, but they knew it was not their place to speak up. Now that his smile had returned the manor seemed a brighter place and the work load half as heavy.

Antonio resumed his daily swordsmanship lessons, although after 11 years he was almost as good as his master. He dueled with Gratiano and a few of the local lords' sons, went to the opera, and visited all of the shops under the Romano family's patronage. It had been four days since Bassanio's letter had arrived, and although it was difficult, he knew he needed to be patient. So he kept busy, personally inspecting his father's ships and hosting dinners for his captains. Anything to keep his mind preoccupied.

All was going well until the seventh day in September. He was in his study, checking figures on some recently docked trading cargo and answering some correspondence from the family's tenant farmers. It was almost midday and the sun was shining. It was still warm but not overwhelmingly so; the window was open and a pleasant breeze wafted in smelling of the sea. He was abruptly interrupted by Shylock, who had blissfully been absent for days. Shylock entered without knocking, a mirthless smile on his face and two manservants at his back.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Shylock began, smiling at the street view from Antonio's window.

"It is," Antonio murmured, not looking up from the letter reporting good crops on the mainland. "Try not to spoil it for me."

Shylock chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it, if it weren't for the small matter that your bond is up."

"I'm afraid I don't share in your sense of humor," Antonio said coolly, putting down the letter and lacing his fingers together. "We both know that I have one more month left, so if you're quite finished wasting my time with your practical jokes, I would ask you to leave."

Shylock donned a puzzled expression and drew a sealed piece of paper out of his midnight blue waistcoat. "Hm, that is odd. It says two here."

Antonio stood and snatched the bond from his cousin's hand. He read his bond again, and his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw the words in black ink: two months…

"This must be a mistake," he spat. "You promised me three months!"

Shylock stroked his beard. "I recall promising only two."

"It was three when I signed it!"

"That is your signature, is it not? You were worried about your friend Benvolio-"

"His name is Bassanio, you bastard!"

"-and in obvious distress… perhaps you misheard?"

Antonio slammed his hands into his desk. "I read that contract word for word! I remember exactly what it said! You lied to me, this is some sort of trickery!"

"It's not my fault that you have more brawn than brain-"

"Enough with your simpering words!" Antonio thundered. "I know what I read and I know what you said! You're a liar and a sick, evil person- anyone who is willing to become a kinslayer to get his family's money isn't human! I'm ashamed to call you family!" He sat down, the bond shaking in his hands. He was beginning to doubt himself. Had it really been only two months? How could he have overlooked that crucial detail? No, it had to be some trick of Shylock's… but that was his signature on the bond, his irrefutable seal. The contract was set in stone.

If he refused to pay his bond, he would be committing a crime punishable by death. Whichever path he chose, his final destination would be death. He felt the weight of the gallows' noose around his neck. He was going to die…

Defeat settled over him like a heavy blanket. Shylock had outsmarted him. He still hadn't heard from his father; the letters he'd sent to his mother had gone unanswered. There was no way out.

"I have one last request," he said quietly. His own voice sounded far away. "A letter… I'd like to send one last letter…" There was something he'd left unsaid, something that he would regret taking to the grave for every second that remained to him.

"Very well," Shylock sighed. "Make it quick." Antonio wrote as fast as he could, saying everything that he had felt and longed for in silence for so long. By the time the letter reached its recipient, it would be too late. Maybe he shouldn't… Maybe it was selfish not to take this burden with him. No, he needed to say it. Whatever waited beyond this life, he wanted to meet it with no regrets. A selfish man's last words to the one he loved.

As he was led by Shylock's servants down the stairs, he passed the sealed letter to his butler Vincenzo with instructions to send it by rider to Mantua. It was a long shot, but hopefully it would arrive before Bassanio passed through.

My Bassanio… please don't hold these confessions against me… You don't know how hard it was for me to write them down after keeping themselves for so long… Would that I could see your face one last time.

"Home at last!" Portia cried in delight as they crossed the bridge and entered Neo Venice for the first time in two months. They had stayed in a small farming village outside of Bardoneccia for a few days to rest and lick their wounds before taking the main roads home. Nerissa's wound was finally healing properly under the careful supervision of Anna, a kindly old woman with a husband, three sons, their wives, and their children all living under one roof.

Despite the already cramped conditions, the family had welcomed them into their home. Bassanio was immensely touched by their kindness and repaid the favor by helping out around their modest farm. Portia tried to help the women in the house, but a high born lady is less than useless in a kitchen.

When they were rested and Nerissa was fit to ride again they headed out, making up for lost time on the smooth, well-traveled roads that lead almost straight to Verona, Neo Venice's sister city. Bassanio was not saddened to put the mountains at his back. Many horrible things had occurred there; he was ready to put it all behind him and move on with his life.

They welcomed the safety of the road to Verona. Gypsies would not risk a raid on such a heavily trafficked road, preferring to single out small bands travelling through the woods alone. The more dangerous highway men would have brazenly attacked Bassanio, Nerissa, and their guard with their conspicuous caskets. However, three weary travelers would be easy to overlook.

They met up with Salanio and a fully recovered Tubal in Mantua, welcomed additions to their small band. The five survivors of the journey to rescue Lady Portia returned together to Neo Venice.

Bassanio was happy to be home, but anxious as well. Two months had passed, and he was not sure if Antonio had received word from his father. If he hadn't, the days he had left were draining away slowly. Days before they reached Neo Venice, Bassanio felt as if something was very wrong. Unable to place the feeling, he urged the company to pick up the pace toward home.

"Something is wrong," Portia said, sounding distraught. "Where are all the people?" Neo Venice's canals and corridors, streets and waterways, shops and boats, were all empty. The sight of the city so void of people, sounds, and smells was like staring at a graveyard.

"Excuse me, signor," Nerissa called to an old man wheeling a cart full of kindling down a cobblestone street, the sole occupant of Neo Venice. "Please, where has everyone gone?"

The old man looked right at Bassanio with sad, rheumy eyes and said: "Everyone is attending the execution of Lord Romano's only son."

Nerissa gasped. Portia cried out in horror.

Bassanio felt as if his heart stopped beating. "No… he still has time…"

I'm too late…