Current mood:	sleepy
Entry tags:	blink/mush, isabella, race, specs/dutchy, spot

Reunion, III
Marco made his appearance the next morning. It was just him and a few guys in suits; if they’d still been in the mob, they’d have been ‘casing the joint.’ Instead, they were discussing strategic check-points and security protocols and, well, Sean was actually pretty inwardly pleased that they really were taking Michael’s safety this seriously.

Marco still looked like a model. Of course, he was genuinely middle-aged now, and his hair was starting to gray pretty noticeably. And yet somehow, the phrase ‘devilishly handsome’ came to mind. And when he smiled—well. Sean glowered in his general direction. It still pissed him off that a guy that hot was so impossible on every level.

Marco, to his credit, didn’t flinch from Sean’s glare. He offered his hand and, when Sean gave it a disgusted look, he shrugged. “I need to get a security pass made up for you,” Marco said, business-like. “I’ll need your driver’s license and I’ll have to get a signature once the pass is printed up. Shouldn’t take too long, this early in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Sean said. He pulled out his wallet, grabbed his license and gave it to Marco, who motioned over an aid and asked him to please rush the paperwork so “Mr. Conlon” wouldn’t be held up.

Sean raised an eyebrow. Marco shrugged.

“Do I need to wait,” Sean asked coldly, “or can I go see my friends?”

“Go on in. I’ll be in in a bit—they don’t know I’m here yet.” He hesitated, but didn’t say anything about it. “Why so early?” he asked instead.

“Michael sleeps some,” Sean said. “Ryan doesn’t really.”

Marco nodded. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll bring you the ID in awhile.”

“Yeah.” Sean started to walk off, but Marco called after him. He paused.

“I just—I’m sorry about…I was sorry to hear about you and Tony. I know that’s late, but…”

“Go to hell,” Sean answered, not looking back.

Michael’s room was spacious enough that they’d grudgingly agreed to move in a bed for Ryan. A small one, rather than a hospital bed; during the day, they covered it in a comforter and used it as a couch for Michael’s many well-wishing visitors. (The hospital staff was probably counting the hours until they got Michael and Ryan out of their hair—but on the other hand, Michael and Ryan were seriously discussing something about a “Ballatt-Meyers Wing” so maybe they wouldn’t mind so much later…)

Ryan was lying on his bed, watching a television on mute, still wearing his pajamas. He looked completely blank. Sean glanced away, knowing how much… Well, how much all of this was killing him. The simple fact that he couldn’t share a bed with his (real, legal, honest-to-god) husband was breaking Sean’s heart, and it had been speculated publicly and often that Sean was completely heartless.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Ryan glanced over and nodded. Sean skirted around the edge of the room, past Michael still asleep in his bed, and sat next to Ryan. “Still not sleeping?” Sean asked needlessly.

“Mm,” Ryan said. He was wearing an old T-shirt and pajama pants, and Sean noted that what was completely forgettable sleepware for him probably cost a couple hundred dollars. Hilarious.

“How you holding up?”

“We’re hoping he gets out next week,” Ryan said softly. “Haven’t decided if we’re going to stay here or go home. I mean, home would be nice, but the care here…”

“They’ve been pretty good,” Sean said.

“Yeah.” Ryan played with the cuff of his pajama pants.

Sean sighed and relaxed. Ryan would perk up when Michael woke up.

--

Isabella saw Sean walk out of the wing where Michael was staying and hesitated. She wanted to ask him to stay—Tony would be arriving soon, and she had a vague idea that he might help keep Tony under control. But it wasn’t fair to ask him to do that… Especially not when, however Tony reacted, she was pretty sure Marco would deserve it.

But still, when Tony approached (so far as she knew, with no idea of what was coming) she hung back. She didn’t want to try and stop Tony from wrecking havoc, but she also didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. Though there had better not be crossfire. She’d warned Marco, quite firmly.

Marco had set up shop at a nurse’s station, having flirted and cajoled his way into a little desk space. Which Isabella thought was hilarious, inwardly, because she wasn’t sure if Marco knew that was what he’d done. He seemed aware of the fact that he was freakishly attractive, but only in a passing way, like he had to be reminded now and then. She doubted he really knew how to consciously use it to his advantage.

Not like some people she knew, she thought wry, visually tracing Tony as he approached obliviously.

His oblivion dropped away abruptly. He froze, startled, then tensed visibly. Clenched a fist. This was not going to be good. But Marco, like Isabella knew he would, approached. Calmly, quietly, though, like he was a hunter trying not to spook his prey.

“Good morning, Tony—Mr. Higgins, if you prefer,” Marco said cautiously.

Isabella expected Tony to question him angrily and for things to escalate from there. So even she was taken aback a little when Tony punched him.

For all Marco had at least a foot on Tony, it clearly hurt. Tony had put his whole arm into it, and though short, Tony was pretty strong. Marco reeled, staggered back a step, and looked shocked. Blood gushed from his nose but he barely reacted.

Surprising. Marco had been hit often enough in his line of work; he’d clearly been caught completely off guard. But the shock only lasted a second; Marco reached for a handkerchief quickly and pressed it to his face, stemming the blood flow somewhat. He took a few deep breaths. One of the guys in his crew appeared at his elbow, started towards Tony, but Marco waved him off and hissed at him to get lost and stay out of it. The man gave Tony a wary look, but disappeared again. At least he was well trained.

Tony was clearly still on guard, Isabella noted. His fists were both clenched; he looked like he was ready and planning to strike again.

“Mr. Higgins it is,” Marco said finally, stepping back.

Tony didn’t move. But he did say, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Isabella hired me to work security,” Marco explained. Tony didn’t answer. “I won’t be in your way. You can go on in.” He stood aside and gestured.

Tony didn’t move, though. He looked around for Isabella, who, despite her incredible ability to not give a fuck what anyone (up to and including her only brother) thought, winced. Because for one second Tony didn’t look pissed off, he looked utterly betrayed. But then that vanished and the anger was back. She walked towards them.

“What the hell, Isabella?” he demanded. “I mean—what the hell?”

Isabella threw Marco an unimpressed look, but said, “We need more security. Something I can trust. Control.”

“Just because you’re in control doesn’t make it better.”

Isabella held steady in spite of Tony’s voice, which was all kinds of angry and betrayed—and hurt. Because Isabella looked out for him, she’d always looked out for him, and she was the one who was supposed to keep the scarier aspects of his past away. She was the reason no one got into an MCM after party with drugs (or without proper ID—she was not going to let any of her boys get busted with someone underage). She was the reason Tony had no idea their father was still in the mob. She was the one who fixed things.

And here she was, inviting Marco back into their lives, even though he’d wrecked emotional havoc on Tony’s life twice.

But she stood firm, because she was his protector, and she knew that right now, security was the most important thing. “I say it does. I don’t have qualms or scruples when it comes to keeping you safe, and Marco only has the scruples I tell him to.”

Tony cast a look at Marco, who had mustered up as much dignity as someone nursing a bloody nose with a rapidly-soaking handkerchief could

“Fuck you,” he finally spat at Isabella. “Fuck you both. Stay the hell away from me, and keep his fucking goons away from me, too. Or so help me…”

Isabella knew he couldn’t think of a threat, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be problems. He’d punched Marco, and Marco had taken it because—well, mostly because Isabella had told him to, and a little because he’d deserved it. But for all she was paying them, she doubted Marco’s ‘goons’ would react as calmly, and Tony had never been one for keeping his head. Brawling with his own security wouldn’t help anything.

“Tony,” she started, but Marco cut her off.

“I’ll stay out of your sight,” Marco said quickly, “but if you think you’re walking around without a guard, you’re out of your fucking mind. Like it or not, I’m good at this. Your best friend was just shot by some kids in front of the fucking White House. I’m better at this than the goddamn secret service and he wouldn’t be in the hospital if I’d been there. Too late for that, but I can make damn sure it doesn’t happen again. To him, to you. Hate me all you want, fine, but when it comes to security you shut the hell up and do what I tell you.”

“And I’m just supposed to what, trust you?” Tony snarled. “You son of a bitch, you got me thrown out of my house! And—and you left! Last time I fucking trusted you, you disappeared of the goddamn face of the earth, and now I’m just supposed to believe you’re here to help me? Go to hell, cuz. I’ll take my chances with the fucking gunmen.”

Marco, to his credit, didn’t back down. “Like I said. Hate me all you want. I work for Isabella, and she says to protect you. We can do it the easy way or the hard way, but it’s going to happen.”

“Tony,” Isabella said quietly. “You know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t need to. You know that.”

“We don’t need him, Iz,” Tony said. It sounded like he was pleading. “We never needed him.”

“We need him now,” Isabella said. “He’s on a short leash. Everything he does is approved by me.”

“How do you know that? He’s a liar, Isabella!”

She glanced at him, then at Marco, then said, “I know that because everyone has a weakness. He has a wife, and a son. And I will ruin all of their lives if he steps out of line, and he knows that. That I can, and that I will. And that I’m completely fucking heartless when people are taking shots at my family.”

Marco shut his eyes, sagging for a second. She didn’t care that much. Let him stew. She wanted him to believe that—and she’d ruin him. No need to bring his family into it; the wife and kid were probably decent enough people (and the kid was only seven). But Marco… Well. She had goons of her own, and she’d be able to damage Marco enough that he’d never work again. That she would do.

Tony stared at her with a look that was, momentarily, awed. Then his eyes narrowed and he snarled, “You want me to thank you, Godfather?” and stormed away towards Michael’s room.

She forced herself to count to ten mentally and take a deep breath. Okay. So maybe she’d sounded a little like their father, and maybe she should have known that would piss Tony off. For all he and Paulo had made things right between them (as right as they could, anyway), Tony was probably never going to get over the whole mafia…thing. He had reason enough.

Marco staggered over to the nearest nurse’s desk and helped himself to the supplies needed to finally stop the blood dripping down his nose. “That could have gone better,” he noted dryly.

“Well, he only hit you once, and now he’s pissed at me instead. Count your blessings.”

“Yeah.” He tossed out a bloody tissue and winced. “Like this job. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the employment and for the bailout—but Isabella, I am dead serious when I say this, if you ever threaten my family again, I will make you pay, and not a force on this earth will stop me. If I so much as suspect you’ve got a camera on my kid, I won’t come for your family, I won’t come for your girlfriend, I will come for you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No shit. I expect Tony to buy that kind of bull, I didn’t think you would. You know who raised me; you know what happened to me and to Tony. Families are off fucking limits.” She considered. “But on the other hand, you I will fucking kill. I’ve got enough people who owe me favors that finding someone willing to do it would be easy enough.”

He nodded. “I was aware of that when I signed the company over. I’m not fucking around here, Isabella. And no matter what any of you think… No matter what you all think, I’m your family. It means something to me.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, then, getting the big one out of the way, snapped, “By the way, refer to Amy as my girlfriend again, and you’re fired.”

“Isn’t she?” Marco asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Isabella gave him a disdainful look. “My private life is private. I’m telling you not to call her that.”

Marco shrugged. “You’re the boss. You know it—I mean, it doesn’t bother me.”

“What doesn’t bother you?” she asked, and was inwardly pleased that he squirmed at that.

Finally, he answered, “Important relationships don’t bother me anymore, not as long as they’re with basically-good people.”

“Well, thank god, because I was just waiting for your approval.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic. I’m just trying to be nice.”

“I don’t need nice,” she said flatly. “I need safe.”

He nodded. “Fine. All business it is, then.”

That was fine with her, too.

--

Isabella was glad she was there when Dutchy and Spenser came to visit that afternoon. Marco was still there, finishing up his planning, when Dutchy sauntered in. They saw each other at almost the same moment, and both froze. Dutchy recovered quickly, and—to Isabella’s great amusement, as she watched from down the hall—Marco turned noticeably red.

Dutchy said suavely, “Hey, didn’t you used to be Marco Constantine?”

“I, uh, still am, actually,” Marco said.

Isabella stepped closer. She wanted to hear this.

“Ah.” Dutchy raised his eyebrows. “Nice bruise.”

“Tony.” Marco shrugged.

“Ahhhh,” Dutchy said again. “He punched me once, but to be fair, I was fucking his little sister. He takes family very seriously.”

“So I noticed.”

“Dutch?” Spenser asked, looking curious.

“Oh—right, sorry,” Dutchy said. He gestured. “Marco, this is Spenser, my boytoy.”

“Boyfriend,” Spenser corrected, sounding amused.

“Well, you say potato… Spense, this is Marco. He used to be related to the Higgins family, but as soon as they had trouble he split town. Raising the question, what the hell are you doing here? Other than getting punched.”

“Security. Isabella hired me. Speaking of which, I’m sorry to ask—Mr. Verne, I need to see your driver’s license so we can make a security pass for you.”

“Sure,” Spenser said, as he reached for his wallet.

“Don’t need mine?” Dutchy asked.

“You’re recognizable enough that no one can impersonate you,” Marco answered, sounding amused. He nodded his thanks to Spenser and started off to get the pass made up.

Dutchy leaned down and murmured something to Spenser too softly for Isabella to hear. Spenser cracked up, but then looked thoughtful and nodded. And then Dutchy called out after Marco, “By the way! Spense and I were talking about finding a third—interested?”

Marco turned red again and all but ran.

Isabella laughed despite herself.