A/N: Okay, so I warned you that this chapter was going to take a little while. It was…four or five days since my last update, I believe. Slightly unusual for me. I'm sorry, but I was extremely busy. The important thing to understand is that after this chapter is when the major Darco action begins. It was slightly hard for me to write this chapter because I was debating on which way to go with it. Anyway, this chapter is to mostly take care of everything that needed to be settled back in Marco's home. Oh, and I saw it fitting to say that he lived in Milan. I'm sorry, but it just seemed like a very Del Rossi-ish place to me.

"Marco!" Karina exclaimed, engulfing him in a hug as soon as she met up with her best friend. "I miss you!"

"Karina," he laughed, hoping to get a second of air.

"Sorry," said Karina, finally letting him go. "So, how is life in the English-speaking world?" she asked.

"Good, I guess," he shrugged. "Where's my dad?"

"He's in the car."

Marco and Karina made their way to the exit with Marco holding her hand tightly in his for two reasons. One: He was terrified in the swarm of people that were constantly pushing past him. He was so nervous of getting lost. Two: After a nine-hour flight, he was basically falling off his feet.

They found his car, said hello to his father, and jumped into the backseat. "Miss me, dad?" Marco asked, smiling. He may have been dreadfully nervous, but no one had to know about it.

His father nodded, but didn't seem extremely enthusiastic. He was concentrating on his driving. That was Marco's excuse for it, anyway.

Marco sighed, but smiled again when he heard his phone ringing. "Mr. Popular, hmm?" asked Karina, laughing as he answered the phone. "You just got here and, already, you have a call."

"Hey, it's El. I'm just in the bathroom. I escaped for a moment to talk to you," she said.

Marco smiled. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Well, we have about a half hour left of school…it's about two. Why?" she asked. "Got a date?"

"Very funny. Watch," he leaned back against the seat as Karina looked at him curiously, "as soon as I go back to school, that'll be a rumor. Marco had a hot date in Italy. No, I just wanted to know because it's eight here."

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "Your whole day is, like, gone."

"Tell me about it," he rolled his eyes. "So…" he waited for her to catch on.

"So, what?" she smirked, knowing exactly what he was asking.

"Ellie!"

"Alright," she took pity on him, "I spoke to lover boy because you were too afraid to tell him yourself. He was so upset!"

"What did he say?" asked Marco, biting his lip.

"He said, 'Italy? He didn't…move back there! He would have told me…right?' I was so cruel to him. I told him you did," she said guiltily.

"Ellie Nash, you did not!" he said, appalled.

"I did, but I couldn't take it, and he didn't believe me anyway. I said you were going to be gone for more or less than a week," said Ellie.

"Good," he breathed out a sigh of relief. "So, he misses me?" he asked.

"Of course!" she said, finding it strange that he'd even have to ask. "He said he was going to call you when he had lunch, but I guess he didn't."

"Nope," said Marco. "I wouldn't have answered, anyway. I slept the whole flight. Listen, El, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," said Ellie, hanging up the phone.

He was still amazed that Dylan was interested in him. It had been a day and the shock still hadn't worn off. Dylan was everything Marco could have ever wanted in a guy. Granted, he didn't know everything about him, but when they were (planning on) going out Friday, they could talk about that kind of stuff. The unfortunate thing was they had never really been alone together. There was one time, but that didn't really count because Dylan had to tell him stuff that any person with sight would already be aware of. Marco had to find out the basics before he could find out the personal information. He was working on it.

He may have had the date ripped away from him, but they could still plan another one. Besides, they hadn't really had specific plans anyway. It was just unfortunate that he had to be taken away so quickly. However, it was so much easier to accept the hardships that were about to arise when he knew Dylan was back in Canada waiting for him.

"So," said Karina, after a moment of silence, "who's 'he'?" she referred to the boy Marco had been chatting about over the phone.

Marco nodded his head, showing that his father was in the car, and might not want to hear about it. "He's just a guy," he whispered.

"Mhmm," she laughed. "I expect more when I see you…tomorrow. We are going to hang out tomorrow, yes?"

"Definitely," he nodded.

They arrived at Marco's old house, and Marco felt as though he had never left. Almost nothing had changed. Though, that might have simply been because Marco didn't see anything the day he left, and he didn't see anything when he walked through the door.

His first thought was to sit down on the couch, but then he heard breathing. It was getting scary how he could decipher who was sitting there simply by the way she breathed. However, that may not have been too amazing because he only had a choice of his uncle, cousin, or aunt. This particular person was definitely his aunt.

"Ciao, Aunt Rita," said Marco, being as polite as possible. There was no reason at all for her to be treated in a bad way by him. She was always good to him; she just happened to have a hateful son.

"Sweetheart!" she exclaimed loudly, rushing over to hug him. After her outburst, Marco heard the basement door slam. She bit her lip. "Don't you worry about that, Marco. Let me heat some dinner up for you, alright?"

Marco knew better than to argue because, either way, she was going to make him food, so he figured it would be best to just eat it and get it over with.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, Marco," said Karina, hugging him again. "Have a good dinner," she laughed. "It was nice to see you, Rita."

"You too," Rita replied, already halfway into the kitchen.

"What did you all eat?" Marco asked, following her into the kitchen, and sat down at the table.

"You know me! We ate plenty, honey. You're so," she poked him in the ribs, making him throw his arms around his stomach protectively, "skinny."

"Thanks," he rolled his eyes. "I'd rather be skinny than have someone tell me I look like a whale."

"We have six days, right?" she sighed, thinking it over. "I should be able to fatten you up by then."

From that moment until the end of the trip, Marco planned on finding out from her what, exactly, she put in every meal he ate.

"If you don't mind," said Marco, pushing the gnocchi (A/N: I had to put that in because it's, like, my second favorite food in the whole world.) around his plate, "I'd like to go to bed after I eat. I'm exhausted."

"I understand," she answered.

After he declared that he was done, he got up from the table cautiously, (wondering where in the hell his dad had gotten to) planning on going to his bedroom when he remembered something.

"Where's your son?" he asked, wondering how the thought had been out of his mind for almost the entire day.

She frowned. "He's been in the basement since the moment you arrived; he's sleeping there. He won't bother you."

"Your husband?" he asked. He didn't exactly get along too well with his uncle either.

"He's out," she said simply. Marco knew that was all the information he was going to get out of her.

He bid her a good-night and proceeded the walk to his room, ignoring her pleas for him to let her help him along. His aunt needed to realize that he didn't want her help.

As soon as he entered the room, he listened closely (ignoring the fact that he might have been paranoid) to make sure no other person was in there. When he was assured that there was definitely no one else, he closed the door, locked it, and locked every window. He then checked everything over. Twice.

Marco picked up his cell phone, dialing Dylan's number. Surprisingly, Dylan picked up on the first ring. If Marco knew him well enough, Dylan was probably getting ready to call him.

"Marco," said Dylan, happy to hear from him.

"Yeah, its me," he replied, automatically smiling at the sound of Dylan's voice. He quickly fell down onto the bed (purposely, of course!). "I wish I were home."

"But…technically, you are," said Dylan.

Dylan did have a point. Wasn't it true that he had been begging to stay in Italy? Hadn't he complained that Canada would never be good enough for him? Hadn't he also said that he would never make a friend in Canada, not only to avoid betrayal, but also because he didn't want any? Had he not been so frustrated when he had to attend the new school?

Of course, he had been! So, why was it so easy for him to refer to Canada as 'home' and Italy as 'away'?

"So, how was school?" Marco asked, propping his head on his elbows.

"It was okay, I guess," he answered, not sounding too sure. "I was actually early to Media Immersions today! I thought you'd be proud of me."

Marco laughed. "I guess Mr. Simpson was happy I wasn't there."

"Quite the contrary," said Dylan. "He's glad I'm talking you rather than…umm…what was it," he thought a moment, "'some junkie'" he laughed.

"Well, so…why are you in Italy?" asked Dylan. "Home sick?"

"Not nearly," Marco rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm not going to give you all details, but I have to do this trial thing," he sighed, "and I'm starting to rethink it."

"Oh…I see."

Apparently, Marco had more to say. "And the hardest thing is," he said, biting his lip, feeling as though he would start crying any moment, but refused to let Dylan even hear a breakdown, "I don't see the point in doing it. When I'm around him, I think…I'm far away in Italy…and he can't hurt me, but…it's like if I don't--"

"Wait, Marco," Dylan interrupted, "what are you talking about?" he asked, concerned.

"—don't do it," he went on, ignoring Dylan, "then I feel worthless. I feel like he's going to win like he always does. I feel this is the only way I can stop it." He took a deep breath. "So, I should do it, right?" he asked.

"Do what?" Dylan was beyond confused.

"The damn trial!" Marco yelled, angry at the stupidity of what he had done. Who could have been listening?

"Marco," said Dylan calmly, "will it make you feel better about whatever this is if you do the trial?" he asked.

"Maybe," said Marco.

"Then, do it," said Dylan firmly.

"Thank you," said Marco.

"For what?" Dylan asked, confused. "What did I do?"

"You didn't give me a choice," he smiled, "you just told me to do it. Sometimes, that's what I need."

"Oh," he said, surprised, "well, you're welcome."

"I don't feel so well," Marco admitted, "and I'm really tired, so you mind if we talk…day after tomorrow?" he asked.

"Sure," said Dylan. "Sleep well."

"Good-night."

Marco hung up his phone, still smiling, and for the first time in a while, he fell asleep as soon as his head his the pillows.

Marco woke up at around nine-thirty, glad to have finally gotten a full night of sleep, which he was extremely surprised at due to the fact that his cousin was directly below him during his whole conversation with Dylan and while he slept.

He cautiously got up from the bed, pleased that he still remembered the way around the house as though he had still lived there. He walked out into the hallway, smelling breakfast. Pancakes, most definitely.

Marco was so close to the kitchen when he tripped over something. He had to catch his breath, having had the wind knocked out of him from the almost fall.

"Damn shoe," he whispered.

"You sound like an old man," a stuck-up voice and laughter came from the table.

"Thanks," said Marco, rolling his eyes. "I bet it was your shoe," he accused.

"Aww, Marco, let's not be immature," said Giulio, patting the chair next to him.

"Yeah, I'm the immature one," said Marco, rolling his eyes again, choosing to sit at the counter, wanting to be as far away from his older cousin as possible.

"See, ma, he always starts it," said Giulio angrily.

"My god, you're starting it right now!" yelled Marco, not in the mood for him. (When was he ever?)

"I started this? You're the one who decided court was the--"

"Boys!" shouted Rita, having had enough of their arguing. She put a plate of pancakes in front of her son and one in front of her nephew.

"When you're done, Marco, we need to pick out clothes for you," said Rita.

Marco finished his pancakes quickly, and tossed the plate in the sink. He stood up, making sure to walk completely around the table, so there was no way Giulio could possibly trip him, and he followed his aunt into his bedroom.

"Let me see what you brought," she said, opening his suitcase.

"In the right zipper," Marco pointed, "is where all the choices for trial clothes are."

"I see," she said softly.

Marco listened to the tone in which she spoke and, for the first time, he realized how hard the situation must have been on her. Her own son was being put on trial.

"Do you not want me to do this, Aunt Rita?" he asked. Though he knew he had to go through with it either way, he wanted her opinion.

She shook her head. "I don't want this to happen, Marco, but I didn't want you to get hurt, but what you have to understand is…" she sat him down, putting her hands on his shoulders, "it's going to be hard to find proof on whether or not…Giulio…hurt you."

"Aunt Rita! I don't mean to sound disrespectful, but who the hell else could have done it to me?" he asked, trying to make her see reason.

"I know I can't fully remember the night, but that doesn't matter. I remember he was there and we were in there. We had the door closed. No one else could have done it," he said.

Rita sighed. "Yes, but…"

"There can't be any buts," Marco argued. "He did this to me, and I'm sorry, but I can't let him get away with this. Because of him, I will never ever see again."

She nodded, taking her hands off of his shoulders, and moving back to the clothing. "Yes," she said, not really meaning anything by the word. She pushed through all the clothes until she found what she liked.

A simple pair of beige slacks and a blue button-up dress shirt was her decision. "This is what you'll wear. I can't say good luck. I don't know…what else to say," she walked out the door and closed it behind her.

"This is going to be the hardest thing I have ever done," Marco said to himself, picking up the clothes.

"The trial isn't until two!" he heard his father call from outside of the door, walking away as soon as he'd said what he had to.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

"I have never even been to court before," Marco fidgeted nervously in his chair.

"Relax," said his father, turning back to the lawyer. They were in a deep conversation. The lawyer kept muttering things about how 'crimes between families' were always the worst or something along those lines. He was just making him more nervous. Was this a good lawyer? Would he win? What, exactly, did he want to happen to his cousin if he won? He should have thought this through!

He convinced himself to relax, as his father had suggested. Everything would be fine. His aunt had conveniently decided not to show, nor his uncle, but that was expected. He found himself, for one single moment, feeling sorry for his cousin. Whatever the outcome of his trial was, it would ruin him completely. Not only could he get into serious trouble with the law, but…the fact that was a drug addict would definitely come out, and he'd probably be shunned from the family.

Damn shunning. Marco knew how that felt. So, on top of all that fear the boy probably had, his parents weren't even there for him. Honestly, where was all this sympathy coming from? It was just plain wrong. He couldn't feel sorry for the boy who had been responsible for ruining his life.

However, because of Giulio, his life had been completely changed for the better as well. One good thing he got was leaving his private school. He was able to go to a new school where people were way more accepting, barely strict at all, (compared to his old school anyway) and held people like…Dylan.

Giulio screwed up his life, but truthfully, he'd gained so much from it. Besides, Giulio screwed up his own life in the first place.

Maybe it was the fact that he felt sympathetic for Giulio, knowing that he could possibly go to prison. He was eighteen; he had too much to live for! Or maybe…it was the fact that he was scared of the trial. Maybe…he wanted to forgive.

Or maybe…it was the fact that he realized he'd never have met Dylan (big reason) if it hadn't been for the horrible bashing from his cousin. Or, it could have even been the fact that Marco felt he didn't have enough evidence. It could have also been the love he still held somewhere deep in his heart for his cousin. Whatever the reason, Marco made what could have been classified as an incredibly noble deed or the stupidest mistake of his fifteen year old life.

Marco walked back over to his father, tapped his shoulder, and said, "I want to drop everything. No charges. No trial. I don't want to do this."

Even without his eyesight, Marco could tell his father was staring in shock, his mouth hanging open unattractively.

"No charges?" he repeated. Marco shook his head. "No trial?" he asked. Marco shook his head again.

"No."

"Let me go talk to the judge…" his father was obviously very confused, but probably didn't care whatsoever about his decision.

"Cancelled?" asked Mrs. Del Rossi. Marco had just called her to tell her the news.

Marco sighed. "I felt it was best."

"I did say it was all your choice. I respect it, Marco, but you didn't just do this out of fear, did you? Because---"

"No," he interrupted strongly. "I did it because I felt it was right."

Marco could tell she was smiling. "Have fun on the rest of your trip. I love you," she said.

"I love you too." He was about to hang up the phone.

"And, Marco?" she spoke again. "I'm proud of you. I would have been proud if you fought, of course," she laughed, "but I know you did it out of love, and I don't just mean love for him. Even if you don't realize it, you wanted our family to stay together. You always have."

Marco felt so happy after what she had said. "I still haven't spoken to Giulio. At all. Well, once this morning about a shoe, but I left the court with dad and…he was still there."

"I have to go, Marco. Work, you know? It's much earlier here, you know?"

"Okay, bye." He hung up the phone without waiting for her reply, which she probably hadn't even given.

"Talk to Giulio," Marco said to himself, "or not." He sighed. "I'm thinking not…"

A knock on his door interrupted his conversation with himself. He was irritated. Couldn't people see that he didn't like getting up to answer the door?

"What?" he yelled, hoping the person could give him their information without needing to come inside.

"Marco, it's me," came the quiet reply of his cousin.

A/N: So, it may have taken a while, but it was pretty long. I hope you liked this chapter. Please review because I really want to know what you thought about it. Oh, and did the chapter name completely fool anyone? Lol