Two months later.
I, Marco Cattalano, stormed up to the Summers home, ready to leave for good. I was all packed and ready to go home. I had yet to tell Willow, et al, that I wasn't coming back from New York this Christmas. I would be content to stay away from Sunnydale forever.
I knocked on the door, expecting the house to be still awake at one in the morning. The door slid open. And Spike was there! Spike!
"Can I help you?" he asked in his painful accent, making "Can" sound like "Ken."
"I want to see one of the ladies of the house, if possible. I guess one of them is still awake; otherwise you wouldn't be here. I can't imagine Buffy sleeping as long as you were indoors. At the moment, I'd even see Tara." The name of Willow was still stuck on my tongue, and I couldn't bear to think about her too much, or about what I feared she would become.
Spike gave me an even slimier little smile than usual. "Little slow, aren't you? Tara's not 'ere anymore. Moved out a while ago. As fer me, I was just leaving."
Spike walked out and I let myself in, closing the door behind me, looking very confused at the vampire's back. I closed the door after him, and stepped into the living room. No one there. I was about to turn around and leave when I heard—
"Marco? What are you doing here?"
I turned at the sound of Dawn's voice. Her arm was in a cast, and her eyes were filled with venom and the residual effects of a sedative.
"Wanted to…what happened to your arm?"
Without thinking, Dawn snapped, "Willow—"
That name was all I needed to hear. I bolted for the stairs, and Dawn tried to block me. "It was an accident," she began.
"Get out of my way, or that arm will be the least of your worries!" I snapped. "This has to stop! NOW!" I growled.
Dawn sidestepped out of my way and I bolted up the stairs two at a time. I dashed for Willow's room and burst through the half-open door (you can have the doors partway open when you have nothing but estrogen in the house). I slammed the door behind me so hard, it almost bounced back and slapped me upside the head.
I turned toward the bed and down at Willow. The sheets came up to mid-chest. I could see that her nightgown was damp and almost see-through. For the males in the audience, whose minds are drenched in hormones, the sight did not "turn me on," as the locution goes. Exactly the opposite, in fact, as I scanned the rest of Willow. She was covered in sweat and almost shaking, signs I identified with detoxification, or withdrawal. I followed my instincts and leapt into bed with her.
Dawn had run to Buffy's room almost immediately after Marco broke for Willow's. The Slayer had hung the last string of garlic moments before, and was sitting on her bed when her little sister entered.
"I think Marco's going to hurt Willow."
With the speed of a Slayer, she was at the door to Willow's room. Ready and willing to pound Marco if he hurt her friend under her own roof, she peered in through the crack of the door.
Marco lay down atop the covers alongside Willow and hugged her, not thinking about the actions. Almost in reflex, Willow returned the hug, being very needy for physical contact. She explained the events of the past few weeks: Tara had left for the same reasons as he was going to; Willow had turned Amy the rat back into Amy the human witch, they went out partying, playing with other people like toys, and then Amy and Willow turned to a guy named Rack, a magic version of a drug dealer; Marco made a note to find him, hunt him down, and burn the establishment with Mr. Rack inside. It was the typical drunkard's sequence: you lose your job, your spouse, and your home.
After she finished, Marco held her for…he lost track of the time. He slowly pulled back from her far enough lick the tip of her nose. Willow pulled back, confused and smiling, wiping it.
"What was that for?"
Marco smiled, flashing his teeth in an unusually joyful, luminescent smile. "It's called being playful, you gotta problem with that? Puppies do it all the time."
Like the animal of the age he described, Marco seized an earlobe and pulled on it with his lips over his teeth, and growled playfully. Willow laughed and retaliated in kind.
Buffy smiled, confused, and walked back to her room to reassure her young sister that Willow wouldn't be beheaded that night.
Marco and Willow continued to play like children rolling around on the bed together. He slowly wound the bed sheet more and more around her, almost mummifying her in it. He kissed her neck lightly, playfully, and she giggled with pleasure. He let his hand lightly wander over her, the only mark of its presence being a highly pleasurable sensation that felt like heat. When her eyes rolled back into her head and she moaned softly, Marco moved back, not kissing her; letting her imagine whomever she would.
Time folded into itself. Willow's back arched like a bow and she emitted a high-pitched squeak before passing out. Once she fell back on the bed, Marco gathered her up in his arms and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He wondered if he should leave or hold her for the night, staying there if she should wake up and need something to cling to. While he himself hated to admit it, even he needed someone every once in a while, someone to hold on to. Everyone needed to. Despite age, social "constraints"—a fancy name for saying "I don't need anyone"…a pretty fantasy—everyone needed another human being to hold.
Marco decided to make his presence known to the lady of the house, lest she get the wrong idea by his presence in Willow's bed during her fragile state. He slipped onto the floor and silently padded his way to Buffy's room. Seeing light peer out under the door, he knocked.
"Come in, Marco."
He hesitated and thought. Of course Dawn got her, but why wasn't I pounded into mush?
He entered, closing the door behind him, and found the Slayer on the bed again, legs crossed, back against the headboard. She looked disturbed, and not in a "take me away I'm a loony toon" way.
"I saw what you did for her. It was sweet," she said, sounding more alive than she had before, but…disturbed. He couldn't find another word for it.
He cocked an eyebrow and moved the chair between her and the windows, sitting about a foot from the bed. "How much were you there for?"
She furrowed her brows, confused. "I was there for the start, and left." She sat up with a start. "You didn't…you couldn't have…? I mean, you could have, but you didn't"—she let out a sound similar to a whimper—"did you?"
Marco smiled, letting his teeth show through. It was a bright, glamorous… unearthly smile. It was a smile Buffy had never seen on his face before, one of tranquility and peace, and joy.
"No, I didn't do anything improper with Willow. I did for her what my sexual mores allowed me to. Now, what can I do for you? You seem…disturbed. It's better than feeling like your heart's been ripped out, as in from Heaven, but…"
Buffy's eyes glanced away. "I did something…wrong."
Marco smiled. "The proper term is 'Bless me father, for I have sinned.'"
She looked up. "Huh?"
"Confession." He shrugged, and placed his palm against her cheek, delivering a soft, healing warmth. "Don't worry. What could you have done? Have sex with Spike?" he joked.
The way she blinked—almost flinched—guaranteed that Marco would ram the point of a sharpened cross through Spike's hands, feet, lungs, stomach, and other body parts that morning….later.
"Why did you come here tonight?" she asked.
"To say goodbye."
"Why? Are you leaving?"
He nodded. "No one needs me anymore. Everyone knows your secret now. They can help you. Willow… I'm not needed here anymore, and it's not worth putting up with everything around here. I especially draw the line at traipsing down the college steps singing 'Lord of the Dance' and 'Man of La Mancha' at varying intervals. I expected this to be a nice, quiet suburb, and it's not. It was worth the risk to be of use, but…"
Marco graced her with that smile again, and kissed her on the forehead. "Sleep well, Buffy." He slid his hand over her cheek in a final caress, and stood, walking toward the door, ready to spend the night holding Willow, and soothing her fears away.
"What are you, Marco?"
Cattalano stopped and turned. "Whatever do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You're not super-wacko guy, yet you are. You scare Willow and now you're… you. What are you?"
He stood there and flashed the smile. "Whatever I'm needed to be."
As Marco Cattalano turned to walk back and hold Willow in his arms, one unbidden conclusion came to his mind. And for right now, what I am is needed here.
