…Yeah, it's been entirely too long, and I apologize. Whole-heartedly. Life's been one hell of a ride since I first posted it. Projects, HSAs, band trips, plays and the like. Sorry. I do not own 'Accidentally in Love' by Counting Crows. Just thought I'd share.

He was well aware of the fact that he was intoxicated. Five Irish coffees will do that to you. Or was it six? No matter, he was still drunk. He was also aware that driving in his condition was a very bad idea, but as he usually did, he pushed that thought aside as he stumbled down the street to the lot where his car was.

He had realized after his fifth (sixth?) cup that he wasn't in love with Marietta, the first four had made him think that. As for yesterday, that had been grief. No, he wasn't in love. Not in the slightest.

He was hardly a foot into the still-empty lot when someone grabbed his collar and slammed him against the wall. After the stars clouded from his already-clouded vision, he was able to make out Abra's face staring at his.

"Stay away from her." Abra growled.

"Away from who?" he asked stupidly.

Abra slammed him against the wall again. His head banged against the hard brick. Tears of pain welled up in his eyes. He hated to fight, but there seemed to be no way out of this one. It didn't help that he was drunk.

"Oh." The world continued to spin. "Her."

"Yes. Her." Abra sneered.

"What about her?" he blinked up at Abra.

"Stay away from her!" Abra shouted. He pressed a gun to Benvolio's forehead.

Benvolio gulped. Even with his impaired senses, he knew that this was getting out of hand. But, being drunk, instead of trying to get out of the situation, he tried to act tough.

"Wouldn't do you much good to kill me." He said, smiling.

"If it gets you away from her, it does." Abra hissed, pressing harder.

"If you're in exile, you won't be near her." Benvolio pointed out.

"If you're dead, neither will you." Abra smirked.

"I'd prefer to stay breathing, thanks." He nodded and tried to move away, but Abra pinned him.

"So, you want to be like your cousin and die for the love of a Capulet maiden?" Abra's face was inches from his.

"I don't love women." Benvolio pushed Abra away from him. "I screw them."

"Then you believe that peace means you can screw Capulets?" Abra pushed him back.

"I don't want to screw her!" Benvolio exclaimed.

"I don't care!" Abra shoved him to the ground. Standing over Benvolio, he pointed his gun at Benvolio. "Stay away from her."

"I'll stay away." Benvolio stared up at the gun. "But I can't guarantee she will."

Abra gave a yell and kicked him in the side, before grabbing his collar and kneeing him in the groin. Benvolio fell to the ground. Abra's kicks battered him, but he made no move to stop him. He was too tired, too drunk to care. Besides, he deserved this. He should have known better than to engage in conversation with a Capulet. Especially one with a persistent suitor.

"Perhaps now you'll remember to keep your love to yourself." Abra kicked him one last time, than turned and walked away.

"I don't love her." Benvolio whispered. Abra's steps faded. He felt a drop of rain on his head. The sun had set long ago. "I don't love her." He said, louder. The drops fell faster, soaking him where he lay. He sat up slowly. "I don't love her!" he screamed. He stumbled to his feet, realizing that most of the drops on his face were from tears. No matter how many times he said it, no matter how many excuses he made, he did love her. And by loving her, he had condemned himself.

He listened to his conscience this time when it told him driving was a bad idea. So he climbed into the backseat of his car and tried to get comfortable, knowing he would have a rather large headache in the morning.

"Montague."

Benvolio opened one eye slowly. Prince stood over him. "Oh shit…" Benvolio muttered, trying to sit up. Instantly he had a headache.

"It was reported that there was a brawl here last night. Were you involved?" the prince asked.

"Yes." Benvolio squinted up at him. Wow, the sun was bright. "I was drunk."

"It was a simple tavern brawl?" Prince questioned.

"You could call it that…" he replied, rubbing his head.

"Do you remember who was involved?"

Benvolio shifted uncomfortably. If he named Abra, he might be punished for fighting with a Capulet when there was peace. But, it wasn't so much of a brawl as being jumped. "Abra."

"Just him?" the Prince asked, taking notes.

"Yeah." He winced. He had just discovered a large cut on his forehead.

"Were any guns fired?" Prince continued.

"No, but he put his to my head." Benvolio wanted to go back to sleep. Badly.

Prince scrutinized him. "I suggest you find a doctor. Good day." He nodded and waled away.

Benvolio watched him go before flopping back down into the car. He could go to a doctor later. Right now, he wanted to sleep.

"Benvolio!"

Well, so much for that idea.

His mother's face appeared over the side of his car. She gave him a stern look. He shrugged and sat back up.

"He jumped me. I didn't even fight back." Benvolio told her.

"Your uncle won't be pleased." Anna Montague gently touched the cut on her son's forehead. He hissed in pain and pushed her hand away.

"What do they care? It's their fault we had all those fights in the first place." Benvolio replied.

She ignored this statement. "Your aunt and uncle are concerned that you aren't…Lord Montague material. With your cousin dead, and you now being the heir to the Montague estates…"

"I don't pick fights." Benvolio muttered. "The fights pick me."

"I know, Benny."

"Don't call me that."

"You may be twenty-one years old, but you're still my son." Anna sighed. "But the fact is that they don't have any faith in you. They think you're not responsible. Thing is, all they want is Romeo and you're nothing like him. So be prepared for them to give you a hard time, okay, Benny?"

"Ma!" He exclaimed. This was giving him a headache. Not that he didn't have one already. He was different. So what? Couldn't they accept that? All his life his aunt and uncle had wanted him to be somebody else, somebody like…Romeo. Romeo was dead. He was alive. They were going to have to live with what they had left, and that was him.

"Fine, I won't call you Benny. Yeesh. Now, let's get you to a doctor." His mother said.

He yawned and climbed out of the car, holding onto the side as a wave of nausea swept over him. This was going to be a long day.

She idly leafed through her book as she sat at the bottom of the stairs. Her mother was crying again. As much as she disliked her mother, she hated to see her cry. She knew that once her mother started crying she would find some wine to console her, which would mean she would tipsy for the rest of the day. Marietta, out of habit, reached out to grab the telephone and dial Juliet's number. But she froze when she remembered that Juliet was dead. Well, maybe Tybalt could provide…but he was dead, too.

Tybalt was four years older than she, and she was three years older than Juliet. As children, they had spent many afternoons in the courtyard of one of their mansions, pretending to be a valiant knight, a damsel in distress, a powerful sorcerer. They had swam in Juliet's pool, read stories in her library, begged for food from Tybalt's cook, and had adventure after adventure.

But when Tybalt turned fifteen, things began to change. Poisoned thoughts infiltrated his mind, turning him from a kind and gentle teenager to a Montague hating man. He stopped hanging out with them and started learning how to use a gun with his new best friend, Abra. The girls had been very angry with him, and had made quite a few plans to get back at him. Then his parents had died in a car crash, and he had become even hateful. If the girls so much as tapped him on the shoulder him, he would lash out. But occasionally, he went back to who he had once been. Especially when the whole Abra-wanting-to-marry-her situation had come up. The girls still missed the old days, when they could all talk together and play, but there was nothing they could do. Tybalt had changed, and they had not.

And now her cousins, her two best friends, the other two Musketeers, were dead. She had never felt any more lonely than she did now. Except…except when she was with Benvolio. Then, she didn't feel quite so lonely. Was it wrong to fall in love after knowing someone for two days? Well, Juliet had married Romeo after knowing him for about twelve hours.

Ugh. Thinking about marriage made her think about Abra, and about how her mother was disgraced that she was seventeen and not yet a bride. Every day looked bleaker and bleaker, and it seemed as if she would marry Abra whether she wanted to or not.

The doorbell rang, jolting Marietta out of her dismal thoughts. Though it really was the servants job to answer the door, she answered it, mostly because she was right there. Prince stood on her doorstep.

"Is the Capulet called Abra here?" he asked.

"I haven't seen him. Why?" she wondered.

"He and a Montague got into a fight." He said, seeming distracted.

"Was the Montague a man called Benvolio?" Marietta felt her stomach tighten.

"Yes." Prince glanced around. "If you see Abra, send word. Good day." He left.

Marietta shut the door slowly. So, Abra had confronted Benvolio. What had he told him? Probably that she was his and to stop talking to her. Did that mean that she would not be seeing him at three o'clock? There was no way to tell. She would just have to go and see is he showed up. She walked out of the foyer quickly, thinking.

She was absorbed in her thoughts and did not notice that she had entered the courtyard, nor did she notice that someone was standing in her path. She collided with him, tumbling to the floor. Abra stood over her.

"Hello." He said, smirking.

"Prince is looking for you." She said, standing up.

"That's no way to greet a suitor." He replied.

"You are not my suitor." She looked at him. "What did you do to him?"

"I taught him a lesson." Abra shrugged. "You have a suitor, you don't need another one."

"You think that you own me. I am not yours, I never have been. I'll pick my suitors, and you are not one of them!" she snapped.

"You may think that, but in the end, you will be my bride." He leaned in, face inches from hers.

"I will die before marrying you!" she hissed.

"You wish to pull a Juliet and kill yourself before becoming a bride?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Don't use her name like that!" She cried, and before she knew what she was doing, she had slapped him.

He slowly opened his eyes and turned to her. His eyes were twin pits of Hell, showing rage she had never seen. She backed away, slowly, knowing that he, like Tybalt, had a short temper.

"Bitch." He said in a low voice. "You shouldn't have raised your hand. And it doesn't matter what you think or feel. But…" she saw his eyes scan her body, stopping on her chest. "I don't need marriage to get half of what I want…"

Before she could say or do anything, he had lunged for her and had her pinned against the wall. His hands were on her throat, strangling her. His knee forced its way between her legs. She clawed at his hands, struggling to breathe.

"Perhaps you don't know of my half of Tybalt's bargain. He may have told you that he ordered me not to wed you as long as he was alive, but he told me something else. He said if I gave him money once a month, I could have you at some point. Since he's dead, I figure now is that "some point". So, if you look at it one way…I own you. You are mine to do whatever I want with." He took one of his hands off her throat and reached for her shirt.

"Marietta!"

He cursed and glared at her. "We'll finish this later." He let go of he and stepped back. She gasped, gently touching her neck. Without warning, his hand flew back and he struck on the side of her face. The force of the blow knocked her head against the wall.

"You didn't think you would leave unscathed." He sneered, turning and leaving.

So, that would be her life. If she married him, it would be constant abuse. Black and blue all over her body. Was that all men did? Hit you when you did something wrong, when they didn't get their way? She had seen her father hit her mother once, when she was little. She had hid behind the stair railing and winced at every blow her mother received. Marietta didn't want her life to be like that.

"Marietta?"

Her mother was suddenly beside her. "What happened to your face?"

She let out a sob. It hurt her bruised throat. How could she tell her? Her mother might have also been hit, but that didn't mean she would tell Abra to stay away. Her mother would probably say it was part of being a wife. So why bother? Marietta ran from the courtyard, tears streaming down her face. Perhaps Juliet had had the right idea, with faking death to escape. True, she was not even promised to Abra yet, but she soon would be, if he had his way.

And she wasn't lying when she said she would rather die.

It was against his better judgment that he went to the café at three o'clock. But if he didn't go, she might think he stood her up or something. And an angry woman was the last thing he needed.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he saw her coming up the street. She had her head down, with her hair hiding her face. The other times he had seen her, her hair had been up. Perhaps she just felt like wearing it down, but it seemed to him that she was trying to conceal something on her face. She was about three feet away from him when she glanced up. Her face broke into a grin and he got a glimpse of something on her right cheek, but she tilted her head so her hair covered it.

"I thought that maybe you wouldn't come." She seemed to notice the stitches on his forehead. She rushed to get a closer look, and her hair fell back. He almost gasp at the sight of a huge bruise that covered her entire right cheek. There were quite a few bruises on her neck as well.

"You're hurt!" they both cried in unison.

Marietta ducked her head, trying to hide it yet again. "I'll be fine. But what about you?" she gently touched the stitches. He winced. She withdrew her hand and looked at her feet. "I hate Abra."

He was taken aback. "How did you know he did it?"

"Prince came looking for him, and told me." She brought her hand to her neck and closed her eyes momentarily.

"Abra did that to you, didn't he?" Benvolio murmured, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ears.

"It doesn't matter." She pushed his hand away.

"It does to me." He found himself saying. She looked up at him, surprised. It was his turn to look away, embarrassed.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Marietta sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Is it safe to say that the both of us have had a long day?"

"Oh yeah. A very long day." He nodded.

"I don't really feel like sitting down. Can we walk by the beach?" she asked suddenly.

"Whatever my lady wishes." He grinned and offered her his arm.

"Thank you, good sir." She linked arms with him and they were off.

It was rather dangerous, to be walking in public, arm-in-arm. If someone should see, both of them would be punished. But they forgot about the risks as they walked along, chatting idly. As they neared the Grove theatre, Benvolio reached out and pushed her hair away from her face. She gave him a questioning glance before moving to push it back.

"Please don't." he hadn't meant to sound pleading, but he did. "I want to see your pretty face."

"Nonsense." She pretended his words had not sent her heart into an enjoyable flutter. "This bruise is huge, and ugly."

"Your face is beautiful even with your injury." He assured her, almost whispering.

She paused. "No one's ever said that before."

"What?" he asked, confused.

"No one's ever told me I look pretty." She smiled sadly. "Not my mother, not my father, not anyone."

"Surely your divine suitor must compliment your features." He said with a mocking air.

She snorted. "Abra? He only wants two things. My money, and…" she faltered. Blushing, she mumbled, "and other parts of my body." Both were silent for a moment, before she blurted out, "Do you think of me as your property? A piece of land to be bought and sold?"

He looked at her, startled. "Why would I think that?"

She sighed. "Everyone else does."

He took his arm out of hers and put it around her shoulders. "I don't."

"You insist you're not a gentleman, but I think you're wrong." She smiled shyly.

There was a loud twang from somewhere in front of them. They looked up to the stage. A band, consisting of three girls, stood upon the stage. The guitarist appeared to be tuning.

"Hello!" Marietta called, shielding her eyes from the glaring sun.

The guitarist looked up. "Hello!"

"Are you about to rehearse?" she asked.

"Yeah. Our mom kicked us out of our garage, so we had to come here." The guitarist plucked another string.

"Would you mind if we listened?" Marietta gave him a glance. He nodded. He would enjoy a free concert.

"Sure. We never get and audience." She turned to look at the other band members, who voiced their agreement.

Marietta ran to the first row of seats, Benvolio following, studying the band.

"Does your band have a name?" he wondered.

"The Storytellers. Creative, eh?" she raised her eyebrows, plucking another string.

"You're a rock band, am I right?" Marietta sat down, looking up at the band with wide eyes.

"At the moment, yes." She smiled. "Hi. I'm Bernadette. The drummer over there is Catherine-" Catherine waved. "-and the bass is Irene." Irene gave a nod.

"I'm Marietta, and he's Benvolio." She jerked her thumb at him. He was still walking down to the front row.

Bernadette gave them strange looks. "I may be wrong, but aren't you a Capulet, and he's a Montague?"

"You didn't see us together." Benvolio said sternly, seating himself beside Marietta.

"Aye, aye sir!" Bernadette gave a mock salute. She glanced over her shoulder at her sisters. "Art thou ready to rocketh?"

They gave their nods, and she turned back around. "Ah-one, ah-two, ah-one two three four!" They started playing.

"They don't sound too bad." Benvolio said.

"They sound better than some of the people on the radio." Marietta replied.

"So she said 'What's the problem, baby?'. What's the problem? I dunno. Well, maybe I'm in love. Love, think about it, every time I think about it, can't stop thinkin' 'bout it."

"Thank you." Marietta said so softly he could hardly hear her over the music.

"For what?" he asked.

"How much longer will it take to cure this ?Just to cure it, cause I can't ignore it. This is love! Love, makes me wanna turn around and face me, but I don't know nothin' 'bout love."

"For being so kind to me. I was beginning to think there were no kind people left." She smiled sadly.

"Well, I…I care about you." He felt nervous all of a sudden.

She gave him a funny look. "What are you saying, Benvolio?"

"I…I'm saying…" he fidgeted. This was possibly the scariest moment of his life. "I'm saying…I love you."

There was a silence between them, with nothing but the music (something about strawberry ice cream) behind them. She stared at the ground, as if in a trance. Benvolio wanted to shake her and make say something, anything. Just not this silence. Suddenly she looked up at him.

He hadn't realize how close their faces were.

"Come on, come on, move a little closer. Come on, come on, wanna hear you whisper."

"I love you, too." She murmured. And then she leaned her head back and their lips met.

And all time stopped. For to Benvolio, there was no one in the world but him and her, together. Nothing else mattered but her. Nothing.

"We're accidentally in love…"

Romeo was probably the wisest person who had ever walked the earth. He had known. He had known what love was like. If it was always this great, if it was always this wonderful-it was worth dying for.

Dying for.

He suddenly saw the both of them, dead, in a tomb. If they did this, if he loved her, they might die. Capulets and Montagues couldn't do this, couldn't love. He wanted so badly to love her-but he didn't want to be like them.

He gently pushed her away. She gave him a questioning glance. "I-I love you, Marietta, but…" he hated the look on her face. She was about to cry, and it broke his heart to see her like that. "If we're not careful…if we love each other…we could end up just like Romeo and Juliet."

She took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "I-I understand. Really, I do. I've-I've thought about that, and-and you're right." She stood up. "I should go now." She ran away, and Benvolio could tell she was crying. He felt like crying himself.

"Damn."

He whirled around, suddenly aware of the band. They were witnesses. She and him had been together-and there were people who could prove it. He would have panicked if he wasn't so upset.

Bernadette must have sensed this, for she shook her head. "Not a word, m'lord. Secret's safe."

That made him feel better. He turned to look at Marietta's retreating form. She was still, her shoulders shaking as she wept.

"A smart move, m'lord, but not a happy one." Bernadette mused. She gave her guitar a strum. "But sometimes you gotta be cruel to be kind."

"Bern, shut up." Catherine snapped.

"I'm thinking aloud! Is that such a crime?" Bernadette replied angrily.

Benvolio couldn't help but chuckle. They were like him and his brothers. "No, keep arguing, it's making me feel better."

"Ah, we would, but sadly we were instructed to be home by four-thirty. And seeing as how it's now four o'clock, we should be going. And you should too." Bernadette shooed him away.

He began to leave. Marietta was nowhere to be seen. He walked back to his car, feeling slightly better, but still upset. He wanted to be with her-he wanted nothing else-but he had seen what had happened to his cousin. If you saw that, wouldn't you be afraid of love? He couldn't have both things he wanted. He couldn't love Marietta and stay alive. Peace meant you could walk down the street without getting shot at, it didn't mean you could love the enemy. Or the ex-enemy, if you looked at it that way. There was nothing either of them could do except stay away.

Perhaps it was written in the stars that this was to happen. Perhaps Fate had willed it. Perhaps God had a sense of humor. Well, they could beat Fate, they could change the stars, they could laugh at God. They would live, though it would break their hearts.

Or, so it seemed to Benvolio. However, love works in mysterious ways. And Fate had quite a different plan for our young lovers, though they did not know it. A course of events had now been put into action, and Fate simply had to stand back and watch.