A/N The first chapter of this story was published Sept 29th, 2012. After 11 years, I can't tell you how much I appreciate those of you still reading. Now, let's get Erik and Phelan to Denmark :)

Ch 139

The brief nap Julia intended to take lasted well over two hours, leaving both of us with zero complaints. I drifted in between bouts of light, dreamless sleep and lying half-awake with Julia's head tucked beneath my chin and the backs of her thighs against the front of mine. I held her, my hand over her belly, and listened to her breathe.

My mind wandered and eventually sleep deepened and I woke a time later to Bessie at our feet and Aria on my pillow, purring as she kneaded the top of my head with her needle-like claws.

Muffled voices from somewhere else in the house indicated someone was home and it sounded like Alex and Lisette had returned. A moment later I heard Claude and Apolline.

Julia inhaled and yawned once I moved my arm out from beneath her. My fingertips tingled from lack of blood flow down my appendage, but I would have lobbed it off completely for her comfort.

Before I rolled onto my side, she grasped my hand still firmly against her stomach.

"Do you feel that?" she asked.

I paused, breath held as though it would improve my concentration. "What am I supposed to feel?"

Julia moved my hand slightly lower on her stomach and pressed the backs of my fingers down firmly. "There," she said.

"I don't–" Before I finished speaking, I felt a tap against my palm and smiled to myself. "Is that…?"

"Yes. Our little Unnamed Child is stretching their legs."

The sensation left me grinning like a mad fool. I had always wondered what it would have been like to know Alex well before his birth, to feel moving about months before his birth.

Nothing could have made me love him more, but I longed for the experience.

"Does the kicking cause you discomfort?"

Julia turned her head and smiled. "No, it feels like little flutters," she said. "Eventually it becomes a bit surprising, especially when the bladder becomes a favorite organ to punch, but for now it's a reminder that there is someone else with me."

I kissed the shell of her ear. "He or she is very strong."

"Lissy moved nonstop," Julia said. "She was so active and kicked so hard that Louis was convinced he had a son. From the first moment he felt her move, he had plans for a military career and an entire life planned out, including his future grandsons. When she was born, it was as though Louis could not have been more disappointed."

I caressed her stomach and felt another tap against my palm, unable to comprehend being disappointed in whatever Julia's womb created. The life she carried was a gift, one that I felt immense gratitude for the opportunity to share with her despite my initial reservations.

"I am far more concerned for your well being and the health of our child than gender. You know this."

Julia smiled again and closed her eyes. "I know." She inhaled deeply and turned onto her back. "Five more minutes and I'll be awake. Supper is in the ice box. It won't take long to prepare."

"Fifteen more minutes," I said. "Unnamed Child, allow your mother to rest. Everyone else will survive a while longer."

Julia made no protest and I dressed, leaving her to sleep a while longer. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard Claude say, "You've been here most of the day already. You may as well stay for supper."

"I would like to stop home and retrieve my sketchbook," Marco said. "All of the people passing us by at the ice cream parlor inspired me."

"Use mine," Claude offered.

"What will you use then?"

"We have lots of books with nothing inside of them," Alex said. "You can have one. Father won't mind."

"I don't want to take something without asking," Marco replied.

"Ask me. I'm your cousin, remember?"

"Yes, but you're a child and you have no say."

I saw Alex bristle at Marco's statement when I walked into the parlor and found the five of them sitting together. Claude was resting in a chair against the wall with his healing leg propped up on an ottoman while Marco leaned against my desk with his arms crossed. Lisette was on one side of the settee with Apolline on the other side while Alex had taken my favorite chair.

My brother had not returned yet, which surprised me as I had expected him to spend the evening visiting before we boarded the train to Denmark.

"Cousin Marco would like one of your sketchbooks," Alex blurted out.

Marco made a face. "Cousin Alexandre! I said no such thing!"

"There are several unused books in the study if you'd like one," I offered.

"Do you draw?" Marco asked. He walked into the hall and I followed him out of the parlor.

"No, at least not well enough to consider myself an artist like you, Claude and Phelan."

Marco grunted. "You are giving at least one of us far too much credit by calling our work 'art'.

"Have you had your paintings displayed in an art show?" I asked.

Marco inhaled. "No, not yet, but I have been asked to provide a still life in the spring for Cavo."

I raised a brow. "Cavo?"

"Have you heard of the gallery?"

"Yes, of course," I answered.

Several times I'd overheard Charles and his friends discussing the latest gallery showing at Cavo, one of the most prestigious galleries in Paris.

"You must be looking forward to the show."

Marco shrugged. "I would be more excited if the owner wasn't one of Mum's friends."

"You think that is the reason for the interest?"

"A large part of it, yes."

He walked into the study and looked around while I perused the books on the shelf and pulled a blank sketchbook down.

"Surely your talent speaks for itself?"

"My talent is a whisper. Mum is a speaking trumpet."

Flipping through the pages, I discovered several drawings Alex had added of pyramids and what appeared to be his own version of hieroglyphics with a translation beneath his doodles.

"Here," I said, handing him the book. "Mostly blank."

"Will you play for us as you did in the park?" Marco eagerly asked as he thumbed through the pages. He smiled inwardly as he examined Alex's drawings of a figure with extraordinarily long legs and a head the size of a boulder. Knowing Alex, I suspected his drawing was of me.

"I could," I answered. "Although I suppose I should wait for your father to return."

Marco didn't agree or disagree, deciding instead to peruse the book titles on the shelves.

"How was the ice cream parlor?" I pressed.

"Ice cream is always a delight," he answered.

"And the company?"

"As expected."

His vague reply made it difficult to assess the situation. I considered changing my approach, but Marco placed the book on my desk and seated himself on the edge. He crossed his arms and licked his lips before looking away.

"Is something on your mind?"

"No," he quickly answered before sighing. "It's just…why is it so difficult?" he blurted out, more to himself than to me. I assumed his question was rhetorical in nature and waited for him to elaborate. "Pierre, Calista and Monsieur Kimmer will converse freely with one another. Pierre in particular is relentless with his quips and sardonic comments and they spar back and forth playfully with such ease. He is polite to Claude and clearly quite fond of little Apolline, but every conversation we have feels artificial in nature."

"You are not simply another artist with whom he has met at the Carlisle Club for art critiques."

Marco took a deep breath. "I know, but I thought it would be easy, like the relationship you have with him."

"It wasn't easy," I admitted. "At least not at first."

Our first few encounters had been borderline catastrophic in nature.

"I find that difficult to believe. He's spoken endlessly of you over the years, at times he made it sound as though you shared the same soul."

"You must remember Phelan was seven and I was three and a half when we last saw one another," I said. "Nearly forty years passed between the time we lived together as children and when we were introduced as adults. The relationship was not instantaneous and is still far from seamless."

"At least there is some consolation in that he wanted you in his life," Marco said. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable. He looked at me and swallowed.

"Marco, I cannot speak for my brother and I am by no means making excuses for his previous behavior, but I will say that you cannot lose something if you convince yourself you didn't want it in the first place."

"What did you do, then? To improve your relationship?"

I inhaled and thought for a moment. "I allowed him to know me in ways that I never wanted to share with anyone."

Marco nodded. "That must have been difficult."

"Difficult, yes, but worth it to have my brother in my life. I realized how much he cared for me and how much I cared for him."

"Uncle Phelan!" Alex, Lisette and Apolline screamed in unison, ending the conversation between Marco and myself.

"You three certainly know how to make your uncle feel important," my brother said.

"Well, you are!" Alex agreed.

"And that is precisely why you are my favorite nephew. And do not point out that you're my only nephew because I will fully admit if I had a dozen nephews you would easily make the top twelve."

To that, Marco rolled his eyes and shook his head at his father's terrible attempt at humor.

"If you're here does that mean it's time for supper?" Alex asked.

"That is a question for your mother or father."

"But we're starving."

My brother grunted. "Given that the three of you are keeping a watchful eye on Claude, where is your father? Surely he hasn't been left unattended. There's no telling what sort of mischief he could cause."

To that, I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"He's in the study with Cousin Marco," Alex said.

"I'm pleased you've agreed to stay for supper," I said to Marco as he stood and reached for the sketchbook.

"Alex might not be after my comment. He seems quite offended that I called him a child."

"Alex will survive."

"I'm relieved my comment wasn't fatal."

"Whom are you attempting to murder with your words?" Phelan asked as he walked into the study. He looked briefly at me before focusing his full attention on Marco.

"Your favorite nephew," Marco answered. "Although I suppose death by starvation seems more likely than by my perceived insult."

Phelan inhaled. "When is supper? I feel in danger of starving to death as well."

"Whenever Julia awakes from napping."

Phelan narrowed his eyes. "Are you incapable of creating a meal, Kire, while your wife rests?"

"Of course I can create a meal," I retorted.

"I would be willing to assist," Marco chimed in. We both turned to look at him. "Unless my offer offends you in some fashion."

"You can cook?" Phelan asked.

Marco's eyes widened and he scoffed at first before glancing at me. He took a deep breath and offered a smile in his father's direction.

"Y-yes," he stammered. "By no means am I a culinary master, but I find the art of creating a meal relaxing, particularly when it comes to baking. Four quarters has become my specialty, particularly with dried cranberries and a drizzle of chocolate. Right out of the oven it's heavenly–or so I've been told."

Immediately my mouth began to water and Phelan nodded in approval. "How difficult is that to make?"

Marco shrugged. "Quite simple, actually. It only has flour, butter, sugar and eggs as the main ingredients and I would assume Monsieur Kire has those within his home."

"Chocolate as well," I answered. "If you are interested in providing dessert."

Marco nodded and cracked his knuckles. "I would be honored."

"Then I suppose we are leaving the main course up to you?" Phelan asked, arching a brow as he turned to me.

"Julia has something in the ice box," I said.

Phelan appeared relieved. "Well, then, get on with it."

oOo

The lasagna Julia had prepared was in the oven while Marco stood at the table in the kitchen and put together small plates consisting of sharp cheeses, dried meats, focaccia bread, and grapes. He carefully arranged the food while politely requesting that Phelan and I stand aside and merely observe.

"You've spent a lot of time in the kitchen," Phelan commented.

"I've had a lot of time to spend avoiding family at incredibly dull parties," he said without looking up from the arrangement of meats and cheeses he spread out on a board. "The kitchen was much more exciting than listening to old men complain about their pampered yet tragic lives as if anyone would ever pity them weeping into their overflowing purses."

"The wealthy cannot purchase character," Phelan said.

"Even if they could, they'd find the dullest ones available so as not to stick out in a crowd."

Phelan grunted. "How very true," he said. "The chefs didn't mind you intruding upon their territory?"

"They did at first," Marco said as he cut squares of cheese into star shapes and then grapes into halves, which I assumed were to delight the children. "But after a while they realized I hadn't been sent back to eavesdrop and that I wished to learn how to make soups and croquettes. Eventually they relented and allowed me to fill pastries with custard and top tarts with glazed fruits. After a while, they welcomed me into the kitchen and shared their craft openly with me."

"What did your mother think?" Phelan asked.

Marco glanced up, his expression unreadable. "She's gone from outright disdain to barely tolerating my affinity for cuisine," he said. "Although she insists that baking four quarters cake is what stands between me and the altar."

"Does it?" Phelan asked.

Marco didn't answer and Phelan frowned, perhaps realizing he had overstepped in his line of questioning. In silence we watched as Marco placed the smaller plates with the star-shaped cheese and halved grapes onto the service cart and walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room where Claude, his sister and my children had sat themselves while waiting for their meal.

"Look at the stars!" Apolline exclaimed. "They're made out of cheese!"

I heard Claude chuckle. "Marco must be very fond of you to feed you his art."

"You are getting stars as well," Marco said.

"You shouldn't have gone through the trouble. Regular, square cheese was suitable for me."

"There is never trouble when it comes to good friends. Besides, what is the fun in boring cheese slices when they can be transformed into something far more enjoyable?"

A moment later, Marco pushed the cart back into the kitchen, checked the oven, and pulled a large mixing bowl from the shelf as well as a spoon from the hook on the wall.

He walked through the kitchen with as much fluidity as a dancer on the stage, grabbing the eggs and butter, measuring sugar and flour. He mixed the ingredients with vigor and chopped dried cranberries like a machine performing a task, which he swiftly stirred into the mixture.

"Chocolate?" he asked.

I removed the block of chocolate from the shelf and watched him shave off ribbons, which he set aside, then finely chop up a small section of the block, which he added into the batter.

"You've both had this cake before, yes?"

"Yes, but not by you," Phelan answered.

To that, Marco smiled to himself. "Mum used to insist that I spend Fridays at the shipyard, learning to build from my 'uncles'. Even their daughters were proficient at reading the building plans and making modifications as needed, but me?" He shook his head. "None of it interested me and besides, I couldn't make sense of most of it. I wanted to make my own hearty breakfast and then slip away for the afternoon and paint, but to make Mum happy I spent two years dedicating every Friday to honing a skill that felt more like…like I was attempting to learn a new language backward.

"I spent eight hours every Friday laboring in sweltering heat and bitter cold before I made my way across town and took out my frustration kneading bread.

"At the end of my apprenticeship at the shipyards, when I showed little improvement, Mum suggested that I hadn't taken my education seriously and said I should consider finding a new place to live. She said I embarrassed her and the family name and I told her it wasn't my family and I didn't care as they had always been ashamed of me."

His voice carried sorrow, the spoon in his hand slowly scooping out the mixture into a pan. His gaze was distant, his expression blank.

"I left that night, after she went to bed," he said. "With two hundred francs, my paints and brushes, and a change of clothes to my name."

"How old were you?" Phelan asked.

"Fifteen."

Phelan frowned. "When did you return?"

"When I was seventeen."

"You stayed away for two years?" my brother questioned.

"I had no intention of ever returning, but I received word that Mum had fallen terribly ill and it was requested that I come back home immediately to say my final farewell. I spent a week at her bedside at which time, by the grace of God, she was restored to full health in seven days."

"That was admirable of you to return," Phelan said.

"And conniving of her to feign grave illness," Marco said under his breath. He scraped the bowl clean and tapped the wooden spoon against the pan.

"Would you like a taste?" he asked, extending the wooden spoon between me and my brother where a generous glob of batter with chunks of dried cranberry and chocolate were displayed as a delectable offering.

I dabbed my finger into the batter and Phelan did the same before Marco licked the spoon and placed it into the ceramic mixing bowl, which he left near the sink. "After Mum's brush with death, I couldn't leave, not without breaking her heart by abandoning her again."

"It's evident you're happier in front of an easel or an oven," Phelan commented.

"More comfortable, I suppose," Marco agreed. "Not always happy."

"Were you comfortable for those two years while you were away?"

Marco shook his head but smiled. "Comfortable, not always, but I was genuinely happy for the most part."

He opened the oven, removing the lasagna Julia had prepared with a kitchen towel covering his hand before he placed the pan with the pound cake inside. The metal clattered against the inside of the oven before he shut the door.

With the main dish cooling, Marco looked around the kitchen. "What else, what else?" he said to himself. "Leek soup? Lemon garlic mint summer vegetables?"

Julia rushed into the kitchen a moment later, startling all of us with her unexpected presence. "Who started supper?" she asked quite breathlessly.

Marco froze, the towel hanging from his back pocket and mouth agape. "My apologies, Madame…" He blinked at her and Julia gasped. "I beg your pardon, but are you…?"

"Marco?" Julia questioned, turning her head to the side in a way that reminded me entirely of Bessie. "Surely it can't be."

Marco's bewildered expression turned into a wide smile. "Cousin Julie! It is you!"

Julia chuckled. "What a pleasant surprise."

"My apologies," I interrupted. "How do you know my wife?"

"Because she's Anthony's cousin!" Marco said, throwing his hands in the air. "And by association, I used to call her Cousin Julie. We were like–"

"Brother and sister," Julia said. "Marco used to come into the bakery at night and help Anthony prepare the dough for the morning."

"And clean the racks, the pans, the muffin tins, the ovens, scrub the floors, wash the windows, clean out the cases, and make sure Anthony never ran out of sugar or lard." Marco placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Lisette was an infant the last time I saw the two of you. You used to call her Lissy."

"I still do," Julia said.

"I apologize for taking over your kitchen," Marco said.

Julia walked to my side and placed her hand on my shoulder. "You are forgiven. Whatever you've put in the oven smells delicious."

Marco waved off the compliment. "A simple recipe, I assure you, but one I've made hundreds of times. I've allowed your husband and his brother a taste, which I hope they found satisfactory."

He looked at me and I readily nodded. "Exquisite."

"If you've fed my husband sweets he will always say it's exquisite. He's made of ninety percent sugar."

"I would offer you a taste as well, but as the baker I took the liberty of licking the spoon."

Julia looked from me to Phelan. "Why don't you gentlemen relax while I help Marco finish up supper?"

"I insist that you allow me to cook for you," Marco said. "It would be my absolute pleasure to serve the lady of the house."

Julia appeared delighted. "You have not changed one bit."

"Hopefully I've changed for the better."

Julia tugged on my arm. "If you're certain…"

"Absolutely," Marco insisted.

I started to turn, but saw Phelan made no attempt to follow us into the dining room.

"I would like to observe lemon and mint vegetable preparation," Lan stated. "As long as the chef doesn't mind company."

Marco pursed his lips. "Lemon, garlic and mint," he corrected. "And if you remain in my borrowed kitchen, I will put you to work."

"Understood," my brother answered.

"Uncle Erik," Marco said. He smiled to himself. "And shall I call you Aunt Julia or Cousin Julie?"

"You may call me whatever you wish, Marco."

"My extended family, if you would inform the others, supper might be four stars instead of five with a new apprentice in the kitchen beside me."

Phelan cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon, but I assure you supper will be six stars, perhaps six and a half."

Julia smiled and grabbed my hand as she walked out of the kitchen and I followed her.

"You're turning into Madeline," I said.

"How so?"

"You're well on your way to knowing the same amount of people as Madame."

oOo

Alex had a myriad of questions he wished to ask before supper was served, which mainly revolved around subjects no one aside from Charles would have been well-versed in such as ancient Egyptian crops and Greek deities as well as the diets of hippos and orangutans.

Eventually, he handed over the line of questioning to Lisette and Apolline.

"What is the first thing you plan to do once you step off the train?" Lisette asked.

"Retrieve my trunk," I answered.

"What if your trunk is missing?" Alex asked. "The conductor forgot to load it onto the train! Then you wouldn't be able to stay."

"Alex," Julia warned. "That isn't a very nice thought."

"Oh! What if your trunk ends up in China?" Alex asked.

"The train will not be passing through China," I said. "But to answer Lisette's question, I intend to retrieve my trunk and then take a carriage to my grandparents farm and visit for the week."

"How far away is the farm from the train station?" Lisette asked.

"According to your uncle, about three kilometers."

"What if the horses get lost?" Apolline asked. She eyed Alex, who smiled approvingly.

Claude turned his head to the side and shook his head. "Sister!"

"Or they run in the opposite direction!" Alex added.

"Then we will have to set out on foot through the jungle," I said. "And hope the tigers don't eat us first."

Apolline gasped while Alex furrowed his brow and made a face. "Denmark doesn't have jungles, Father. And tigers are not a native species."

"Then the likelihood of the horses becoming lost is the same percentage as your uncle and I becoming lunch to a large cat in the Denmark jungle."

Alex appeared annoyed, but made no further comment.

A moment later Phelan held the door open for Marco, who pushed the service cart through and over the rug, careful not to rattle the contents of the cart.

"How was your first course?" he asked.

"I've never had such delicious cheese," Apolline said.

"Wait until you try the main course and sides," Phelan said.

"What did you make, Uncle Phelan?" Lisette asked.

"I made the vegetables."

Marco cleared his throat and my brother frowned.

"I cut and briefly sauteed the vegetables," my brother said.

Marco lifted a brow.

"I cut several carrots and a few spears of asparagus as well as half of a zucchini," Phelan glowered. "Which I attempted to saute before being asked to step aside."

"They were all different sizes," Marco explained. "It wasn't going to cook evenly."

Phelan looked disappointed in Marco's assessment of his skills in the kitchen, but didn't say anything in return.

"Well, it smells delicious," Julia said. "And I for one will eat whatever the two of you made."

Apolline politely raised her hand. "May I eat the vegetables Uncle Phelan prepared? I don't mind if they're different sizes."

"Me either," Lisette agreed.

"You are both too kind," their uncle responded. "I am glad you both are giving me a chance to prove my worth in culinary affairs."

"I didn't mean it as an insult," Marco said to Phelan.

"You didn't mean it as praise, either," Phelan replied.

Marco's lips parted. I wasn't sure if he intended to apologize to his father, but Apolline handed her plate to him and whatever was on his mind was left unsaid.

Plates were generously portioned, wine and tea poured, and our last two guests seated around the table. I glanced at the clock behind Claude, noting the time.

"I am very happy for you," Claude said to me in Danish.

"I'm not," Alex said, utilizing the Danish he had learned from Charles. He crossed his arms and slumped in his chair.

Julia dabbed her lips with her napkin. "Alex, what is the matter?"

Alex sighed and ignored her question.

"Alex–" Julia started to say, but Alex put his head down and wrapped his arms tightly around his body.

Claude studied Alex for a moment, his head turned to the side. "Are you worried about your father?" he asked in Danish.

Alex hesitated. He looked at Claude, then his plate of unfinished food, then back at Claude. "A little," he said softly.

Claude nodded. "He's never been away from you before, has he?"

Alex pressed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Never."

At once I understood his unexpected behavior and felt my heart ache in my chest. He had spent practically every sleeping and waking moment in my care, nestled in my arms or in a bassinet at my bedside until he moved to a crib of his own and even then, the moments he spent alone were rare.

I composed with him on my lap and he ate half of my supper as a toddler, grabbing food directly from my fork to stuff into his own greedy mouth, smiling deviously. Quite often he would remove a half-chewed piece of roast and offer it to me.

I had made certain that he was always content, that his tears were dried and belly full. He no longer needed me holding his hand or blowing his nose, but I had and always would need him.

"Alex," I whispered softly, placing my hand on his upper back between his shoulder blades, attempting to comfort him.

"I don't want you to stay home," he said, leaning into me. "But I don't want you to leave."

"I will return in a week," I promised him. "And then I will tell you all about Denmark and my grandparents and perhaps in the spring we will all visit their farm together. Would you like that?"

Alex sniffled. "I suppose."

"We will go to the park every day after your lessons," Claude promised in Danish. "As long as your mother doesn't mind, of course, and you can borrow my easel and paints. How does that make you feel?"

"That won't make me miss Father any less," Alex said.

"No, but you can paint something to welcome him home," Claude suggested. "A tiger as you mentioned previously."

"Chasing Father and Uncle Phelan?" Alex asked, his interest piqued. "Through a very large field, with a rainbow overhead and a sun made out of a sunflower."

"Yes, I like that very much. You are a natural when it comes to using your imagination," Claude praised.

He smiled warmly at my son, exuding kindness that would soon be bestowed upon children who had no parents or home of their own. The Daae would be fortunate to have Claude and I wondered if he knew what a natural he was when it came to comforting children.

Alex at last nodded and looked up at me. "I suppose I'm a little less sad, but I will still miss you while you're away."

"I will miss you as well, but I look forward to your painting."

Alex took a deep breath. "Should I apologize to Mother? In French because she doesn't speak Danish?"

I nodded and Alex stood, walking around the table to stand beside Julia. "I apologize for being rude. I am going to miss Father while he is gone," he said, keeping his gaze down.

From the corner of my eye I saw Lisette bow her head.

"Of course you will, my dear." Julia pushed his dark hair back and kissed his forehead."We all will, but it's just for a little while and then he will be home again."

"Listte, you will care for Aria while I am away, yes?"

Lisette looked across the table at me, her eyes bright. "Of course! I will wrap her in blankets and carry her around like an infant," she said.

"And Alex, you will feed Bessie."

"I thought Grand-mere would feed her," Alex said. I issued a pointed look and Alex nodded. "Yes, Father."

"As the man of the house in my absence, you will keep your mother and sister safe," I said. "Lock the doors before bedtime, clean your face and your teeth, and do as you are told."

"That is a lot to ask of Alex," Phelan said. He gave a slow shake of his head as if the tasks assigned were quite arduous in nature. "Are you certain you can do this for your father?"

Alex readily nodded. "I have Clude and Uncle Charles," he said. "And Grand-mere and her cane!"

The clock chimed ten times and the table fell silent briefly. At any moment, the carriage would arrive and I would officially head to the train station with my brother.

"Do I have time to draw something for my great grandparents?" Alex asked.

"I believe you do."

"You start drawing, I'll serve dessert," Marco said. He stood and pushed his chair up to the table. "Is my assistant coming as well?"

Phelan's brows shot up. "Are you giving me another chance?"

Marco nodded. "If you want one."