Solitude1056 | Giles waited while Marcus finished making the phone calls. The young man leaned in the doorway to the kitchen, fiddling with a pen while he waited for details on his return flight. At various intervals, he'd remove the calling card from between his lips to respond in a liquid Italian phrase, and then jot something down. Giles sipped his tea, waiting for the news. "Riservarme uno all'inizio di volo a Madrid," Marcus snapped suddenly. Giles wasn't positive of the meaning but it was obvious the young man was getting frustrated. It became even clearer when Marcus raised his voice in a flurry of Italian. He was silent for a moment, listening, before turning around to see Giles watching him. Marcus started to shrug, then winced. "Ciò è bello. Farlo, e lo chiamerò da lí," the young man said, and hung up the phone. Sighing, he joined Giles at the table. "All set, then," Giles asked as he poured a cup of tea for Marcus. "Yes, sir." Marcus accepted the cup and handed the pen to Giles. "You may want to write this down, yourself. I have trouble reading my own handwriting, so I doubt copying this for you would do you much good." Giles chuckled and took one of the journal printouts, flipping it over to write down the information. Marcus read out the flight information and times, and Giles was startled to hear the young man's itinerary was not what he'd expected. "You're flying into Spain? In four days?" Giles raised his eyebrows at the young man. "Not Heathrow?" "I have to stop by the vineyards and oversee the racking, but I figured I'd visit a college friend on my way home," Marcus said amiably. "I'll be at Heathrow the following week." "I thought you live in Venice," Giles replied. "I do," the young man said, his gray eyes squinting as he grinned at Giles. After a second, Giles began to chuckle in response. The two finished their tea in companionable silence, enjoying the moment. Dawn had stayed home from school at Buffy's suggestion. They had been up all night as Dawn cried, but it wasn't until the small hours that Dawn could voice her grieving. Despite the early morning light filling their mother's bedroom, Buffy let her sister talk. When exhaustion finally set in, and Dawn slept, Buffy was awake for a bit longer, remembering her own heartaches and mourning Simon, and her sister's loss, in silence. They'd slept late, and after so much talking, the morning was hushed. There were errands Buffy had planned to run while Dawn was in school, but they could wait. She didn't want Dawn being by herself in the house, but she respected Dawn's request at breakfast for some time alone. Instead, Buffy made herself busy around the house with little chores she'd been putting off, such as cleaning out the fridge. Dawn was in the living room, reading. Buffy could hear a muffled sob every now and then, and her heart broke all over again. Sighing, she dug out two generic sodas from the farthest reaches of the fridge, and gave them a confused look. Since when did anyone around here drink these, she wondered. Buffy had just finished when she heard a soft knock at the front door. She grabbed a towel and went to get the door. Her sister had gotten there before her, and was holding the door open to Marcus. Dawn's posture was stiff, and Buffy wondered what he'd said. "Marcus," Buffy called as she finished wiping her hands. "Please, uh, come in." Marcus didn't move. He was holding something in a gesture of offering. Curious, Buffy set the towel on the foyer table and came to stand next to her sister. Dawn still hadn't moved, her eyes transfixed on the object. Buffy realized it was Simon's rugby shirt. It was filthy, but folded neatly. "I..." Marcus bit his lip, his deep voice cracking. His gray eyes were downcast, and his expression was regretful. "I managed to get this, last night. I'm sorry if I shouldn't..." He glanced at Buffy, who shook her head almost imperceptibly. He looked back at Dawn, who seemed to be slowly waking up. "It's, it's okay," Dawn whispered, her hand slowly reaching out to touch the shirt. "There wasn't anything left of him, he just... turned to dust." Marcus regarded the young girl sadly. He held very still as she stroked the shirt, the tears brimming in her eyes. "I didn't wash it," he replied, his voice under better control. "It's... the ritual, you see, and the shirt..." He glanced at Buffy, his eyes wide with his own pain. She realized what he meant and glanced down at the shirt in horror. He continued, his voice a low rumble to mask his own heartbreak. "I thought perhaps you might... want to give it a burial, in lieu of having..." Dawn shook her head violently. "No," she said firmly. "This is a part of him, and I want to keep it with me." "I'm doing laundry next," Buffy interjected. "I can-" "No." Dawn cut her off as she carefully took the shirt from Marcus. "I'll do it. I want to do it." She turned to go, but Marcus' voice stopped her. "Please," he said quietly, a strange note in his voice. "I'm sorry. I truly am." Dawn stopped, her back to him. For a second, she hung there, before turning slowly around, lifting her chin as she gave him a small smile. "I understand." Clutching the shirt to her, she turned and fled up the stairs to her room. Marcus looked at Buffy, worried. "If I'd known, I would've taken the time to wash out the blood," he whispered, and Buffy shook her head. "We're used to that, in this house," she said. "We know what it means." Marcus was perplexed, but let the comment pass. "Will she be okay," he asked, his eyes still on the stairs. Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the stairs, and then back at him. Her expression was sad. "Not right away," she said, and sighed. "But eventually, yeah." There was an awkward silence, and Buffy seemed to remember herself. "Please, come in. I'm sorry, leaving you standing there." Marcus smiled, a quick flash, and shook his head. "I don't have long. I'm on my way out of town now," he told her. Buffy nodded, then grabbed her coat and stepped out on the porch to join him, closing the door behind her. "So everything is good to go," she said. He nodded. She hesitated, and decided to ask anyway. "The Watcher's Council, too?" "Yeah." He nodded, shrugging one shoulder slowly. She realized he was still favoring his shoulders, but the gash across his face wasn't nearly as angry as she'd expected it to be. It looked like it'd heal cleanly. "They're a little upset I won't be there tomorrow, but they'll deal." "That's the right attitude," Buffy replied, making a face. "Don't let them think they rule you." He grinned. "I do have to be somewhat courteous to them," he reminded her. Buffy chuckled, rolling her eyes as if she were innocent. He continued, "but I suppose they'll think I'm a lost cause now that I've spent time with you. Bad example, and all that." Buffy squinted up at him, and blushed a little as she saw his large gray eyes looking at her with a mischievous expression. He pursed his lips, about to say something else, and tucked his hands in his jeans pockets, shivering slightly from the November chill. At first, she couldn't figure out what was different, and then she realized he wasn't wearing his jacket. He was wearing one of Giles' old shirts, but no jacket. He had it with him, afterwards, she thought, curious as to why he'd choose to be cold. Suddenly, it dawned on her. That wasn't his jacket last night, she realized. He took precious seconds to get Simon's shirt. A step away from his own death, and he was thinking of my sister. She bit her lip, unable to express her gratitude, or even explain why her eyes were brimming with tears. Marcus watched, but remained silent. Buffy started to speak, then stopped, uncertain of how to express herself. An uncomfortable silence began to grow, until she glanced past Marcus and saw a sleek gray sedan parked at the curb. Buffy gasped. "That's a taxi?" Marcus looked over, startled, then grinned at her. "No, silly, I rented a car." "I thought you could only get ugly hatchbacks in this town," she said, impressed. Marcus laughed, a warm sound, and she grinned back at him. "No," he said, still chuckling. "I've done enough walking in this town. I decided I deserve some finer transportation before I get back on another plane." "It's not that far to the local airport," she teased. "You could've just walked." "My flight's out of Los Angeles," he said. A flash of embarrassment crossed his face as he looked away, but just as quickly he was looking at her again, an amused expression on his exhausted features. "In three days." "It doesn't take three days to drive to Los Angeles," she said, and then it dawned on her. "You're going..." He nodded, and smiled shyly. "I promised her I would." He was feigning nonchalance, but Buffy could tell by the way he hunched his shoulders that he was waiting nervously for her response. Buffy bit her lip, uncertain about what reaction she should be feeling. Finally, she leaned forward on her tiptoes and gently kissed him on the cheek. She held it for a heartbeat before pulling away. "What was that for," he whispered, surprised. "Love," she said, and smiled. |