NOTES: She said it was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her... This is the episode that broke my resistance to shipping these two.

SPOILERS: through Carrier

DISCLAIMER: The 4400 and all things associated with it belong to other people.


TWELVE STEPS

STEP 7: RISK

"Any way I can help?"

"Yeah, you can slap me upside the head for ever mentioning that diary in the first place. It didn't save Collier's life, and now it's making mine hell."

"How about I just make some fresh coffee, instead?"

Lame. Lame! LAME!

Marco hated being in a position where he couldn't do anything for Diana that would make a difference. "What NTAC wants, NTAC gets." She seemed completely resigned to have to sacrifice her daughter's privacy on the altar of duty. If he'd never suggested she should look at Maia's diary, then she wouldn't have learned it held visions and could have avoided being in this miserable situation. There had to be a way around it, but his knowledge of the law was limited.

The others had left for the day, so he had the Theory Room to himself. Picking up the mini basketball they kept for such moments of fruitlessness, he began tossing it repeatedly through the hoop.

Swish, thump, thump. Swish, thump, thump.

He'd had many a clever idea while observing the therapeutic ritual of the mini hoop. Tom didn't understand; his mind didn't work that way. The perpetually dour agent had ridiculed them from day one for the video games, foosball table and other distractions because he wasn't a multi-tasker. Sometimes you needed a distraction to clear your head, and sometimes the best ideas came when you were focused on something unrelated. But Marco had already played two games of foosball, logged an hour in Neverwinter and shot hoops. Setting the ball aside, he paused for a moment and let the frustration drain out of him, revealing the guilt and disappointment beneath it.

The last time he'd tried to offer Diana meaningful personal advice, it had led to this. He didn't want his desire to be a part of her life to cause her more trouble than she already had to deal with, but that's exactly what had happened. Perhaps she was better off without his help.

With a dispirited sigh, he moved to his desk to pop an antacid and grab his jacket before heading home. After locking up, he made his way to the parking garage and was rounding the corner from the Theory Room when the elevator dinged. Diana exited without looking around--apparently the fresh coffee hadn't done much good. Normally, he would be sure to be call out and join her en route to her car, but he felt there would be little point in attempting to distract her today, let alone trying to flirt with her. Even so, he couldn't resist watching her as she left.

The tension radiated off her, noticeable even from behind. He often wondered if Maia ever had to deal with any of her mother's darker emotions or if she was Diana's balm in the way Marco could only dream of being. How many times had he wanted to give her a simple, reassuring hug? She was given the toughest assignments, so it was natural she had to deal with more stress. But this was personal, and seeing Diana like that caused his stomach to churn despite the antacid. His job was stressful but secure and more than satisfying; his family was happy and healthy; he was doing well, all things considered. Yet this one aspect of his life tormented him relentlessly; it was like an obsession. Maybe his sister was right and he should seek therapy.

On the drive home, he tried listening to music and talk shows, but nothing got through his preoccupation with Diana's situation. Then his cell rang. With a quick glance at the caller ID, he decided this was just what he needed.

"Hi, Grandma."

"Marco, I need your help again." He loved how his name almost had three syllables when Grandma Pacella said it. Hearing her voice made him smile.

"Should I come over?" He was her youngest grandson, and while she loved all of her grandchildren, he fancied himself her favorite. As was the case with every woman he loved, he'd do anything for her.

"Yes, if you have not eaten. I just made lasagna."

Like most lasagna, hers was better the next day. "Thanks, Grandma, but I'm not that hungry." His stomach grumbled in sour agreement. It was a bread and butter kind of night.

"Siete troppo sottili."

"Yes, Grandma. So how can I help you?"

"It is the VCR, again." Marco had bought his grandparents a TiVo for Christmas. While Grandpa had taken to the new technology like a fish to water, Grandma still insisted on using video tapes when she was too busy to watch a favorite show. "It is spitting out the tape again."

"Are you using the ones I gave you?" Her VCR was fussy about the brand and quality of its tapes.

"Yes. And it was fine for a while, but now... And it was only halfway used," she lamented.

After a moment's consideration, he asked, "Has Tony Jr. been over recently?" His cousin's boy was the apple of her eye, but he also had a notorious knack for getting into things he shouldn't.

"Yes, just yesterday."

"Check to see if the tab has been pulled on the tape."

The phone was set down. He heard shuffling and other noises followed by her picking it back up. "Marco! How did you know?"

"I'm omniscient," he chuckled.

"Do not say such things! It is not funny." Even joking about anything she considered divine was not acceptable.

He wondered, not for the first time, what she would make of Maia's abilities. "I'm sorry, Grandma. Do you have some clear tape nearby?"

"Yes..." There was the sound of a drawer opening. "I have it, now."

"Take a piece about three inches long and use it to cover the hole where the tab used to be. Make sure you do it from top to bottom, not side to side."

"And this will trick the VCR into believing there is still a tab?"

"Yes. So long as it thinks it has what it needs, it'll be fine."

And just like that, inspiration struck.

"Thank you, Marco."

"No, thank you, Grandma. You just helped me solve a big problem!"

"Me? How did I do that?"

"I'll tell you about it over dinner tomorrow."

"Buon! When should I expect you?"

"Six. But I've gotta go, now."

"Be sure to eat something."

"I will. 'Bye, Grandma."

"Goodbye, Marco."

Taking the next turnoff, Marco headed for an office supply store. Twenty minutes, seven dollars and twelve cents later, he was home, absently eating buttered bread while contemplating the materials that would help him help Diana. It was a crazy idea, one that could cause them even more trouble than Diana was already in, but it just might work.

Diana had only given him the roughest description of the diary, and the options at the store had been limited. Even so, he was confident he knew more about it than anyone else at NTAC. He was also familiar enough with Maia's handwriting and thinking that he should be able to make it convincing. Besides, kids' handwriting changed constantly as they grew. He was just glad that, unlike most people from her era, she wrote mainly in print and not script.

First, he popped open the container of letter stickers he'd bought, choosing alternating colors to spell "Maia's Diary" on the cover. Pleased with the childlike imperfections in the stickers' alignment, he opened the notebook and pressed it flat then selected one of the colored gel pens he'd bought because his niece was always so fond of them.

The diary had to date back a bit.

The people who keep track of us will be called the National Threat Assessment Command and will get their own building.

Diana will reject another partner at work because he'll say something mean about me.

He could only write authoritatively about events he knew.

Diana will become my real mommy.

I'll get a computer for Christmas.

Naturally, he had to include some events that didn't directly relate to Maia.

The lady next-door will get a gray and white kitten.

Tom's car will get a flat tire and make him late to work on an important day.

Carrie will sprain her ankle while rollerblading in the park.

There also needed to be a few things that hadn't happened yet.

Marco will take me to see the Sponge Bob movie, and one of the kids in the theater will throw up from eating too much candy.

Mommy and I will go apple picking and make apple pie. It will taste good, but the bottom crust will be soggy.

And there was no reason he shouldn't indulge himself, just a little.

Mommy will go out with Marco.

What chance was there she would read all of it?

By nine, he had filled the notebook with an appropriate volume of predictions and set it aside, pleased with the results.

Tomorrow, Tom and Diana would be looking for leads to Collier's killer after morning paperwork. She'd been skipping coffee with him since the canvassing had begun. He'd have to think of an excuse for her to come to the Theory Room so he might give her the diary, but he could contemplate that on the drive in. Fortunately, there was a convenient blind spot in the basement security cameras, one that anyone headed to or from Intel Room 3 passed through. He could slip it to her there.

At best, she might be grateful enough to accept a date with him. At worst, she'd turn him in to Nina and lose him his job. Either way, he'd finally come up with a solution to her problem. The satisfaction had calmed his stomach, mind and heart. Tonight, he would sleep well, and tomorrow night, he would eat lasagna.


Siete troppo sottili. - You are too thin.

Buon - Good