SPOILERS: through season three

NOTES: Please, no mention of season four spoilers in reviews.

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

DESK, PART 4

WEDDING

In what seemed like no time at all, the day of the wedding arrived. It was a typical, overcast, Seattle morning, but the forecaster had promised some sunshine by noon. At least it wasn't raining.

Regardless of the weather, there was no clouding the way she felt. If anyone had told her ten years ago, after the disaster with Josh, that she would have a beautiful daughter and be getting married to an amazing, passionate, loving man, she never would have believed it. It was almost like having a dream come true.

Despite Maia's recital of various wedding taboos she'd read about in magazines--such as the bride and groom not seeing each other until the processional--Diana couldn't help taking peeks at her fiancé as he greeted the people who came into the church. He shook every person's hand and apparently said something special to each one, for they all left him with a big, happy smile. She'd never had particularly refined social skills, so she couldn't help but marvel anew at his remarkable way with people. It was almost like magic.

At last, everyone was seated, and the music began to play. Although a bit too old for the job, Maia had agreed to be their flower girl, and she left Diana to fulfill her duty while being escorted down the aisle by Tom and Caesar. Then it was Diana's turn. Alone, she walked to the alter. She was so focused on her handsome groom that the rest was like a vague blur, with the guests and flowers and even Maia's smile barely registering. Taking Ben's hand, her heart overflowed with happiness as the minister began speaking of the importance of marriage.

During a pause in the ceremony, she heard the quiet thump of a closing door. The minister's gaze flicked to the entrance of the church as he intoned, "If anyone present knows why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, let them speak now-"

"I object."

Those two words echoed through the church with authority but none of the passion one might expect, given the context. It seemed everyone turned in unison to stare at the speaker. Dark-haired and bearded, he wore an NTAC jacket and no glasses. That's why she didn't recognize him at first.

"Marco?" Maia wondered aloud as he strode purposefully down the center aisle.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Tom.

"My job," was his brief reply. "Everyone, please remain seated. Caesar Esperanza, you are under arrest for plotting and participating in terrorist activities against the United States, perpetrating fraud and burglary, and violating the international 4400 laws." At this, he pulled a pair of handcuffs from a snap at his belt. It was then she realized he wasn't looking at Ben's friend but at Ben, himself. "Please raise your hands above your head and step to your right, away from the others."

Suddenly, Diana felt herself yanked into a rough embrace, one arm around her waist, another around one shoulder. In her surprise, it took a moment for her to process the fact that it was Ben who'd grabbed her, pulling her away from the wedding party and holding her like a shield between himself and man who'd just ruined her wedding. Something cold and hard was pressed against her throat. "Sour grapes, Pacella?" Ben's voice was derisive and harsh, unlike anything she'd ever heard from him before.

Marco slowed his progress, his hands raised in front of him in a placating manner, handcuffs dangling from his right thumb. Some part of her fixated on the sudden observation that he wore latex gloves. Why was he wearing gloves? "The building's surrounded. You're not getting out. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

"You really expect me to believe you'd risk her life?" At this, Ben tightened his grip on her, nearly lifting her off her feet.

"Believe what you like." Marco shrugged. "Even if you get past me, the others will stop you."

"They won't if I get everyone here to riot."

En masse, the guests stood, then everything was pain. It wasn't the sharp, precise pain of metal on flesh, but the convulsive, body-numbing agony of electric shock. Unable to control herself, Diana fell in a twitching heap, dimly recalling that stun guns were a part of NTAC's arsenal before her head hit the marble dais.

The next thing she knew, Marco was leaning over her, one gloved hand on her throat, the other in front of her face. "How many fingers am I holding up?" If he was worried, she couldn't hear it in his voice.

Thrashing her head in an attempt to dislodge his hand, she tried to push him away but found her arms oddly uncooperative.

His gaze hardened. "Hold still. You've been cut." The pressure on her neck became slightly more forceful. "Think about Maia. Or would you rather have her watch her mother bleed to death after being assaulted by her father-to-be?"

She did think about Maia, and all that had just happened, the pieces falling together in her dazed brain. It felt like being crushed as the reality of her lost dream of love and marriage settled on her. "I hate you," she gasped.

Nodding, he accepting her vitriol without blinking, as though it was a part of his job to be wounded by her tongue. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two," she spat. It had become a number symbolic of her life.

"Good," he murmured, reaching for her wrist with his free hand, apparently to take her pulse despite the layer of latex that separated her skin from his.

When had he learned to take someone's pulse? Had he known before they'd met? What did it matter?

"What's today's date?" There were a lot of people talking around them, but somehow, he commanded her attention, the other voices becoming a vague buzz.

"Saturday, the 6th of October, 2007."

"Where are you?" Behind his head, the stained glass flared with brilliance as the sun escaped the cloud cover. The glow brought out the rich brown hidden in his dark hair. "Stay with me, Diana." Her gaze refocused on his face. "Where are you?"

"Saint Mark's United Church of Christ."

"Do you know what has happened?"

"You've ruined my wedding." Her voice sounded pitiful and desperate, even to her own ears. "I was happy."

"It was a lie, Diana." Despite his guarded gaze, his voice was consoling, his touch tender as he ran a thumb comfortingly over her knuckles.

Feelings of helplessness and loss overwhelmed her stunned body, and she felt tears in her eyes, on her cheeks. "But I was happy."

"I know." Releasing her hand, he brushed the tears from her face. "I'm sorry." The heartfelt words seemed to come from someplace deep, and the brief glimpse of misery in his eyes seemed to mirror her own. He'd wanted her to be happy, too.

"Maia..."

"I'll make sure she's okay," he promised. Then he let go and stepped aside as paramedics arrived and took over. Distantly, she heard him say, "Hey, Maia. Why don't you come with me and Jed?" Maia spoke, but her voice was too quiet and quavering for Diana to make out the words. "She'll be all right. Everything's going to be all right now." Marco spoke with all the assurance and comfort she might have used, perhaps more. Hadn't he always had Maia's best interests at heart?

Accepting that her daughter would be reliably cared for, Diana let herself succumb to the sleep that dragged at her overwhelmed senses.