A few weeks prior, had anyone asked, and had Marcus felt he had enough energy to answer (a dubious prospect at best), he would note that he generally couldn't tell the difference between something good and something bad.
For a while, Aro had been very enamored with opera. Aro had first taken both Marcus and Caius with him to premiers in both Rome and Florence, then, later, simply Marcus when Caius made it clear that he had less than no interest in the art form. Caius often remarked that the last of good human entertainment had died with the lions and the gladiators.
Marcus had hazy memories of watching many productions, sometimes, different versions of productions he and Aro had seen already (as this or that company put on a new version of this or that opera). Aro always left with opinions. Sometimes on the story itself, the music, the libretto, and sometimes on the company.
Marcus never had an opinion.
He barely remembered the operas themselves at all. Whenever he found himself sitting in the audience, he would find his mind wandering far beyond the stage, and by the time it was over he had missed near the entire thing.
The stage was always… such a flat thing to him. Flatter, in many ways, than even reality which often seemed unbearably cheap and meaningless.
Regardless, Marcus would be the first to confess that he didn't have opinions. Marcus was simply present, a silent, casual, observer of life, and that was all.
A few weeks ago, while he'd had vague notions of human cinema, he did not believe he'd seen a single film. Aro had a film library, of course, as he had a library for all things. He had not, to Marcus' knowledge, ever forced a film upon him and as a result Marcus had never seen one.
(It was entirely possible that he had, once or twice, and simply forgotten the experience.)
Aro seemed to prefer live theater.
However, for all that Marcus was unfamiliar with cinema, for all that he never held an opinion on anyone or anything, he could say with confidence that he did not like "Love Actually".
"Titanic" had been long, strange, and accompanied by Bella Swan's helpless weeping. It had not been particularly gripping or what Bella Swan seemed to believe it was, however, it had been tolerable. Though, admittedly, the portrait Bella had drawn of the actress Kate Winslet, had not been. Though the woman would never learn of it, Marcus pitied her for her portrait. Its very existence felt as if Bella had slandered her without dignity or remorse.
"Pride and Prejudice" had been similar, nothing that provoked what little remained of his interest, but not an actively painful experience. It'd been no worse than listening to Aro prattle on about Carlisle Cullen, for example.
"Bridget Jones' Diary" had been about the misadventures of an overweight British woman, but Bella assured him that this, in fact, was the point of the film.
The films were more or less the same to him, something that had inexplicably become a part of his daily routine with Bella Swan, while figure drawing somehow became less and less prevalent (Bella had not bothered to draw during studio time for well over a week now).
Today though, for the first time, he felt his mind not simply wandering but actively wandering elsewhere. Even had he wanted to, even had he remotely desired it, he simply could not focus his full attention on the screen.
However, perhaps because of it, he felt as if his mind were trapped there within the film. Even as he wanted to think of something, anything, else, it was as if his mind had abandoned him entirely. He was helpless to the mechanizations of the plot, watching as the film flitted between an erotic film star and "Old Alan Rickman" as Bella dubbed him, a man gleefully cheating on his wife. He felt as if time itself had ceased to have any meaning, not that he couldn't track it, but that it had suddenly decided to spite him and crawl.
Decades passed by, watching that movie, no, surely it had been a thousand years. Yet, every time he thought to himself that it surely must be over, there was more.
It just kept going.
Bella, as usual, was lost in the film itself and paying little to no attention to him. No, she was lost to him now, and would only return to this small classroom when the film had ended, and she wanted his opinion. Which, of course, would inevitably disappoint her and lead to a very heated defense of why the film "portrayed love, actually" when Marcus had thus far been unconvinced by any film she'd thrown at him.
He would point out that Bella herself, never having a lover nor even significant interest in a lover, was hardly one to talk. However, that had seemed unwise, and something had told Marcus that it was better to keep that knowledge to himself.
He doubted she'd listen anyway, for whatever reason, she seemed to believe that Marcus had next to no experience in interpersonal relationships of any kind.
Then again, he mused to himself as "Charming Hugh Grant" fired his foul-mouthed but charming secretary, perhaps she had a point. There was his gift, he supposed, but—Marcus was so untethered to this world, put such little effort in it, that any interpersonal relationships he had were shadows of what they had once been.
Marcus, once, could have argued with her. The Marcus he was now…
Perhaps she did know more about love than he did.
Perhaps, what he was seeing on the screen now, really was "love, actually".
It seemed wrong though, blasphemous even, to think such a thing. Surely, whatever the ills of the human race, whatever translated over to a vampire, there was more to their lives than this. This could not be all there was in this world.
He didn't believe that.
(It still wasn't over. Per the film, they were not yet at Christmas, how was there more? How could there possibly be more—)
He turned his attention to the girl instead.
The end of the semester was nearly upon them. This was her final week in his class, both Aro and Bella had reminded him of this multiple times, and yet Marcus still found himself—surprised, yes, that was the word.
Though it'd been such a short period of his life, only a few months, he found it hard to imagine going back to the life he'd lived before. To his world without Bella Swan, this small room, and her art lessons every weekday afternoon.
That was the world he would soon enter though.
She had informed him that she would be returning to America and her university for the fall semester. That, after his course ended, she would spend only a few more weeks in Tuscany. Then he supposed she would fade back into the human tapestry, certainly, he would never see her again.
He supposed he had best resign himself to it.
His relationship towards Bella had changed little and it could change back to the indifference of strangers. True, there was fondness, the seeds of friendship, and perhaps even kinship that had taken root with him barely noticing. Somewhere between the lessons and her movies she had made a place for herself in his life. Still, bonds faded, and what was between them was still such a small thing. It would be harder for her, he thought, as her fidelity hadn't faded in the least.
She still considered herself, for whatever reason, loyal to him above all other things.
He never had learned why.
She'd never given a hint of it beyond her strange insistence on showing him films and insisting on the dangers of the world. It was clear that she had no intention of letting him know her changed priorities. She'd seemed perfectly content to let whatever it was resting between them remain unacknowledged and unspoken.
He generally was as well.
Except, of course, that he now wondered if she would feel the same way miles across the sea. Surely not, with time and distance it would fade, but then he had never understood why she felt the way she did in the first place.
At his attention, she finally turned to look at him, then flushed vermillion and quickly looked back to the screen. She fidgeted in her seat, darting her eyes at him every few seconds, throughout the rest of the film.
When it was finally (finally) over, she let out a long sigh of relief, removed the DVD from her computer, and stored it lovingly back in its case (as she always did).
"Now, Professor, you can't say that one of those love stories wasn't really love," Bella said, looking at him as if just daring to disagree with him, "There's six whole love stories in there, all different kinds, and one of them has to be—"
Marcus let out a long, deep, sigh.
"Bella," he said slowly, the word sounding pained on his tongue, "Let me rest for a moment. That was—long."
Her eyes bulged out of their sockets, somehow wider and bigger than they already were, "Are you—you didn't like any of it?!"
She asked that as if the very idea that he hadn't enjoyed himself was inconceivable.
"It was long," Marucs repeated simply.
He had aged a thousand years tonight.
"I—" she cut herself off, as if not even sure what she could say to that, what argument she could possibly present. This was impressive, Bella had nearly missed her bus defending Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennett.
"None of them?" Bella asked, "What about the Prime Minister and Natalie? Weren't they cute?"
"He fired her when she was sexually assaulted," he said dully.
Bella blanched, looked down at the case, then back at him. She looked as if she had just been betrayed, hers was the face of Caesar as he had been stabbed by Brutus on the steps of the Senate.
It appeared she'd never realized as much before. Despite having watched this travesty several times.
"Okay, maybe not them, but what about—"
"None of them," he quickly interjected, "Were 'love actually'."
She said nothing for a moment, simply stared at him numbly. Then, pointing at his naked chest, she declared, "You're just a cynic. You, Marcus de Volterra, are a hopeless cynic and there's just no saving you."
He did not believe he was a cynic.
"I am officially out of ideas," Bella continued, throwing her hands into the air in frustration, "You probably don't even think love exists at all—"
"I never said love didn't exist," Marcus said, "I simply haven't seen it in your films."
She let out a long sigh, letting her hands drop, "Well, I guess that's that then. Do I even bother to bring in anything else? Isn't tomorrow our last day?"
Was it? It was the last week, Marcus knew that much but—A quick mental calculation told him Bella was right, it was Thursday of her final week of class. Tomorrow, Friday, was the last day he would see her.
Bella peered at him curiously, biting her lip, and asked, "By the way—out of curiosity—what's my grade?"
He stared at her in numb amazement. He had assumed she knew.
"You failed the course," he answered.
"I what?" Bella asked, nearly falling out of her seat, staying upright only as Marcus' arm quickly stopped her fall to the floor and table.
"You failed to produce anything remotely resembling a human figure," Marcus explained, "And that will not change by tomorrow morning."
Bella opened her mouth, looking as if she dearly wanted to argue this (looking at him rather pointedly), then closed it again. Her face, once again, had become an unnaturally bright red.
"You haven't produced a drawing, period, in studio time for weeks," Marcus continued, "You have failed this course."
She nearly fell off the stool again, once again, Marcus caught her before she could concuss herself on the table.
"But—" Bella stopped, looking at him wildly, then went so far as to clutch him by the shoulders, either oblivious to or completely unbothered by the temperature of his skin, "I need those credits! I can't fail the class!"
"You can fail the class," Marcus corrected, "You would simply prefer not to."
"Marcus," she hissed, "I'm your only student! Have pity on me!"
"Pity was not in the grading rubric," Marcus pointed out.
"You don't even have a rubric!" Bella shouted, "No one will have to know!"
Yes, he supposed that was true, but it was very disingenuous. Marcus, certainly, would always know.
She looked as if she were going to press her point further, then let out a long, deep, sigh. She seemed to have resigned herself to the grade that had almost been inevitable.
"You think anyone will take your course next semester?" Bella asked, "I mean that is—"
"No," Marcus said.
She at first a little surprised at his admission, then nodded, as if she'd come to expect nothing less.
"Right," Bella said after a pause, "I guess on my end—I'm really going to miss the sunshine. I've told you I'm from the Pacific Northwest, right?"
She smiled to herself wryly, "A lot like the United Kingdom, cold and wet, pretty much the whole year round. Everything's very green, of course, but it's just so—dark. I never got used to it. Being in Italy has been nice."
She sighed yet again, "It's going to be absolute misery to return to that weather."
Marcus wasn't sure what he was meant to say to that. The weather meant little to him. More to the point, the Volturi had settled in Volterra an age ago. The Tuscan region was, in a way, far more his homeland than anywhere else in the world had been.
Just as Marcus was now more his name than any other.
Bella didn't seem to expect an answer though. Instead, looking at him pensively, she ripped a piece of paper out of her sketchbook and scribbled a series of numbers down on it. She placed it delicately into his hand.
"Here," Bella said, closing his fingers around the paper, "This is my number. My phone, number, that is—you know, that metal rectangle thing that I gave you that one time when I was concussed? If you get one of those, or borrow it, and dial this number you can talk to me."
She paused, grimaced slightly, "You'll figure it out, or ask someone for help, that works too."
Aro, Marcus thought to himself, would know what a phone was and how to operate it. More interesting of a question was why Bella would give him this in the first place.
"Seriously," Bella insisted, "Any time, if you're having any problems or just want to talk, I'll be there. Don't worry about time zones."
Marcus didn't know what a time zone was.
"And don't worry about my grade either," Bella said, flushing bright red, "I guess—yeah, that one was on me. Pity I never learned a thing, isn't it?"
"You learned something," Marcus corrected, she had improved, just not enough to pass his class.
In the end, he kept hold of the piece of paper, even as she walked to the bus station and he back to the castle. One more day, and that was all. He found himself walking unnaturally slowly back to the castle.
In the end, he decided, that he would miss these days. Brief as they were, strange as they were, there had been something here that he would miss. At least, until he forgot how to miss anything once again.
"Marcus," Aro said as soon as Marcus entered the castle, looking as if he had been waiting at the entrance for Marcus to arrive, "Are you quite alright? You look out of sorts."
(Marcus had no idea what Aro was talking about. Marcus never looked one way or another these days, he hadn't in two-thousand years.)
"It's the last day of Bella's class tomorrow, is that it?" Aro asked, only… from the tone of his voice it sounded as if that statement had been very planned. That Aro had intended on asking it regardless of whether Bella Swan had been in Marcus' thoughts or not.
Marcus stopped to stare at him.
He did not often bother to wonder at Aro's schemes. Oh, Aro certainly had them, that much was always evident, but Marcus never bothered with them. Sometimes they affected him, sometimes they didn't, and while they were often tedious they were usually little more than a mild nuisance.
This though—Aro was clearly planning something.
Had, perhaps, been planning something for some time. As usual, Marcus had never noticed, only now he felt a half-buried instinct causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise.
"Yes," Marcus said simply, acknowledging that Bella's last day of class was indeed tomorrow.
Aro nodded, as if he perfectly understood, and without a word took Marcus' hand in his. Here, his eyebrows lifted, and he gave Marcus a wounded look, "And you failed her, Marcus, have you no pity?"
"Pity wasn't in the rubric," Marcus repeated from earlier.
"Still, you've put her in a bit of a bind. You know that, don't you?" Aro asked, seeing Marcus' lack of comprehension he explained, "She has to pay for these courses, Marcus, each semester she attends university. If she ends up a semester behind it could place a severe financial burden upon her."
Ah, Marcus had not realized that. Of course, he knew that someone was paying for the courses, likely the girl herself, but somehow, he had never realized that his failing her would mean potentially another semester of schooling.
She hadn't said anything about that.
He certainly didn't believe she deserved the hardships of poverty for one failed art course.
"Don't fret," Aro said, patting him on the shoulder, "I believe I may have a solution."
A solution? What solution? Bella had clearly failed the course and both Marcus and Bella knew it. There was no power on Earth that could save her grade now.
Again, he had the strangest feeling that Aro had intended to say something very similar whether Bella had failed this art course or not. Bella's abysmal performance simply… made whatever came next easier for Aro.
"I will not give her a grade she did not earn," Marcus said, but Aro was not deterred.
"Of course not," Aro agreed, "No, I was not suggesting that but rather—a second chance, on our dime. She'll repeat the course over the summer, here in the castle, and we'll provide room, board, and extend her student visa."
"In the castle?" Marcus asked in confusion, but Aro only grinned.
"Well, it'd be quite rude to make her extend her lease or find another flat when she had no plans on staying. Not to mention, of course, that dreadfully long bus ride to and from Florence. And if she's staying here already then why bother with the academy?"
When he put it like that, it felt as if it should sound reasonable, but something wasn't right about this argument. Marcus didn't know what, exactly, was off about it except that something was.
"Wouldn't that be dangerous?" he finally asked, and Aro's smile, if anything, became brighter.
"Nonsense," Aro insisted, "Renata can easily look after her. No one will touch her while she's here."
That still didn't sound right.
However—
Bella had just noted that she preferred the Italian weather and was not looking forward to her return to America. More, with her current grade, she surely wouldn't be upset at the prospect of a second chance on someone else's dime, as Aro termed it.
It all did line up rather neatly.
Marcus still felt uncomfortable for reasons he couldn't explain, was certain Aro was up to something, but still not quite certain whether that something was something he should concern himself over.
He never had before, after all.
Slowly feeling—perhaps it was trepidation—he handed Aro the paper with Bella's number on it, "She said I could call this to reach her."
Aro immediately whipped what must have been his phone out of his pocket and, faster than a human would be able to track, dialed the number. He then passed the phone to Marcus, instructing, "When it stops ringing, you speak into it as you would in an ordinary conversation."
The ringing stopped within a few seconds, "Hello?"
Her voice was oddly tinny, not quite right sounding, but certainly hers and understandable enough.
Marcus suddenly didn't know what to say.
"Tell her about the plan," Aro said, quietly enough that a human standing nearby would not have heard.
The plan?
"This summer," Aro prompted.
Ah, yes.
"Bella, this summer—"
How was he supposed to put that? Now that he thought about it, none of those details Aro said sounded—natural, he supposed was the term for it. Aro had made it sound logical, but trying to phrase it himself, Marcus couldn't think of how to arrange the words properly.
"Professor de Volterra?" Bella asked, "Is that you? Are you alright? Is anything wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he said, wondering if he had sounded as if there were.
"Tell her about the course," Aro pleaded, beginning to look as if he was ready to tear his hair out. Before Marcus could say a word, he held up his hands, "No, Marcus, repeat after me."
"Bella, I have thought about your predicament—"
"Bella," Marcus repeated, still staring at Aro and feeling his own eyebrows lift as he watched Aro dictate a speech to no one, "I have thought about your predicament—"
"And I have come to the conclusion—"
"That I have passed an undue burden upon you."
There was a long pause on the other end. Finally, sounding utterly baffled, Bella asked, "What?"
Marcus agreed, he wished he could tell her as much.
"While your work was, regrettably, subpar, you did not deserve to fail. I have contacted the university and am prepared to give you a second chance. This summer, you can retake the same course at no expense, and will be provided lodging and food here in Volterra as a part of a summer art program for university and high school students. I will also see to the extension of your visa."
There was another very long pause as Bella digested Aro's words. Then, another, even louder, "What?"
Aro gave Marcus two thumbs up and a very large smile. Per Bella, Marcus believed that meant he was doing well.
"Wait," Bella said on the other end, sounding like she was scrambling and knocking over furniture, "Are you—Are you telling me I can retake the course, here, this summer, and—I won't pay for any of it? Not even my food?"
Marcus looked at Aro for an answer, Aro nodded vigorously.
"… Yes," Marcus said after a long pause.
There was another very long pause on Bella's end. Longer than any of the pauses that had come before it. Marcus watched as Aro's grin faltered, then vanished, something sober and almost fearful taking its place.
Then, with a ferocious determination, Bella responded, "Sure."
Aro sagged with relief, nearly collapsing onto the floor.
"Sure?" Marcus questioned.
"I'll do it," Bella insisted, "You do whatever you need to do, get me the address of—wherever the hell it is I'll be staying. I'll cancel my plane ticket."
Marcus blinked at the phone in disbelief, not quite sure what it was that he was feeling, only that something about this continued to be anything but right.
"I'll be there, wherever, I promise," Bella said, and then, after a short pause, added, "And thanks for calling."
Then in a rushed voice, she said, "Take care of yourself."
And then the phone was silent. Numbly, Marcus passed it back to Aro, who had returned to grinning like an idiot.
Marcus felt as if he had just unintentionally agreed to something he, perhaps, should not have agreed to. However, he couldn't find the words to voice this opinion aloud and, with nothing else for it, continued his original trek to the gardens.
Author's Note: Oh Bella, you tried and then you... stopped trying. Do your homework, kids.
Thanks to readers and reviewers, reviews are much appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight