NOTES: I've already covered the delightfully shippy ending of this episode in great detail elsewhere, so I didn't feel I should here. Despite having something that big happen for these two, this one was really difficult. In Marco's first scene, he was less bristly than the one from the preceding episode, but there was no real hint of deeper emotions, which, given the circumstances, I think there should have been. So, instead of using existing scenes as a springboard for this one, though I did try to make it fit in, I kinda did what I wanted and thought made sense. I hope you all don't mind. Thank you for the beta, PurpleYin!
SPOILERS: through Mommy's Bosses
DISCLAIMER: The 4400 and all things associated with it belong to other people.
TWELVE STEPS
STEP 12: ACCEPTANCE
Max was dead.
Marco was amazed how hard that knowledge hit him. He had to lean against Mick O'Donnell's desk, or his suddenly weakened legs might have dropped him to the floor.
"You okay, Marco?"
Looking up, he blinked at the older agent but didn't really see him. "All those people..." he managed to say, but his mind was whirling through the countless ramifications. "I...I haven't been getting a lot of sleep." That was a reasonable excuse.
"Singing to the choir." Mick gave a disgruntled huff and ran a hand through his short, reddish hair. The grey at his temples seemed to have doubled over the last week. "I can't believe they're having us round them up like sheep. Being a part of it just..."
"Yeah..." He needed a moment to get his bearings. "I...think I could use some water."
"I'll get some. You just take it easy for a minute."
The report on Mick's desk said the initial findings indicated the bullet that killed Max had been self-inflicted. Marco couldn't help but think there was more to it than that. Only someone completely lacking in moral and mental mettle would consider taking their own life when the lives of so many others were depending on them...or when Diana was interested in them. Based on what she had said, Max was not such a man. But, behind Marco's suspicion and antipathy lay relief that his rival was dead along with fear for his own life, both of which made him disgusted with himself.
If Max had been murdered, given that it had happened at a secured, military facility and had been made to look like a suicide, someone high-up had to be responsible. There had been no evidence that anyone had noticed NTAC's medical database had been hacked or that anyone was aware he had delivered classified medical records to Dr. Burkhoff, but that didn't mean anything. If governmental bigwigs had killed the man who had created the promicin inhibitor, wasn't it possible they might also kill anyone who had discovered the deadly truth about it?
That meant Diana, Tom and Burkhoff, not just himself. A day ago, Tom had slipped him a note about having encouraged Burkhoff to hide--with the modern monitoring focus on phone tapping and email surveillance, handwritten messages were often the most secure means of communicating--but NTAC's top two agents were still out in the open. Pulling out his cell phone, Marco tried to call Diana but couldn't get through. He felt a momentary spike of panic before he realized she was probably in the part of her drive to work that had patchy reception. So he tried Tom, instead.
"Marco?" Crises might come and go, but it seemed Tom would be forever surly.
"You hear about Hudson?"
"He found a cure?" His excited tone made Marco regret what he had to tell him.
"He's dead."
"What? How?"
"Bullet in the head. They think the pressure got to him." Marco nodded in greeting to a passing agent; the trailing scent of coffee soothed his unhappy stomach.
Tom let loose an exuberant string of curses.
"My thoughts, exactly. Look, I'm concerned about..." How to phrase it so it didn't sound like what it was? "...the implications this might have for the people familiar with his work."
"You think others who know about it might succumb to the pressure?" That was an interesting way of putting it.
"Yeah." Across the room, at the water cooler, Mick had become caught up in an animated discussion with Charlie Finn, NTAC's other male redhead, so Marco didn't have to rush his conversation. "I figured you should know as soon as possible."
"Have you told Diana?"
"I couldn't get through, but that's normal this time of the morning."
"You know her schedule that well?" Surprise mixed with taunting incredulity.
Giving Charlie a pat on the shoulder, Mick headed back to his desk, water cup in hand.
"Look, I've got to go. I'll be in the basement if you need anything."
"Are you sure you'll be okay down there by yourself?"
He was startled by the implication that Tom was concerned for his well being. "I'm not even field rated." Only field-rated agents had guns. "So I'm not under the same kind of stress as you guys. Besides, you can't realistically play the same card twice." It was a somewhat awkward analogy, but it worked. "The Theory Room's probably the best place I can be right now."
"When you put it that way..."
"Just...don't let the pressure get to you, okay? ...either of you."
"We won't."
"Gotta go."
He hung up just as Mick arrived. Shaking his head, the older man handed Marco a cup of water. "Charlie and Sue had to drag in a woman in her sixties yesterday."
After taking a grateful draught, Marco asked, "Did you hear about the two families that were taken with the last safehouse raid?"
Mick shook his head, his gaze curious but anxious.
"One returnee was a girl; her parents have been taken into custody. The other was a mother. Her husband has been locked up and the kids have been put in foster care."
Slumping defeatedly into his chair, Mick swore softly. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."
"Have you considered going on vacation?" Marco had. He hadn't taken a day off since NTAC had been founded and, combined with all his OT, had accumulated enough for a month off. If only he could use it!
Mick gave him a calculating look. "NTAC's been undermanned since the lockdown. You know how hard it's been."
"As the only person in my department, yes, I do." Marco nodded his agreement.
"So how can you suggest that at a time like this?"
He shrugged. "How can you keep doing this when you know it's wrong? If you weren't here..."
Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk, Mick's expression became one of grandfatherly wisdom. As one of the two field agents with grandchildren, he was entitled to it. "Have you ever done anything you're ashamed of?"
"Sure." Not that he intended to elaborate.
"And how long have you been working for the government?"
"Including the DHS? Four years."
"Well, maybe, after you've got a few more years under your belt, you'll appreciate one shameful event does not define the whole of an organization anymore than one shameful incident defines the whole of who you are."
"I get that," he nodded. "But I don't get how you can rationalize your participation in doing something you feel is wrong."
Mick spread his hands in an encompassing gesture. "What happened when the NSA guys came and that rage bomb went off?"
"They went after the 4400."
"That's because they weren't NTAC. They didn't know or understand the 4400. To them, they're a threat. To us, they're people." Energetic gestures emphasized his points. "Because I don't like what I have to do, I'll treat them with as much care and respect and dignity as I can. If I take off, some guy from another agency will fill my place, and there's no knowing how he might treat them. The only way I can make sure the harm done is as minimal as possible is by being here and doing my job."
The lively lecture had drawn a small crowd, eliciting nods and resigned smiles from some. Charlie's partner was near tears.
"Look alive, people." Charlie nodded toward the main entrance. "Here comes Ryland and...is that Jarvis?"
With his recent discovery of Ryland's darker side, Marco was more than happy to see Nina back at work, but he preferred to avoid them both, if possible. Despite being the best player in the Theory Room, he didn't want to test his poker face against his bosses, and unlike Ryland, Nina actually kept track of her "brains in the basement." Out of sight, out of mind was the best bet. Hopefully she'd be too busy to visit him in person.
"Back to work," agreed Mick.
Returning his gaze to the older man, Marco smiled grimly. "I get it, now."
"Good." He nodded with satisfaction.
"Thanks for the water."
"Sure thing. See you later, Marco."
With a wave, he shoved off the older man's desk and headed for the elevator.
Once ensconced in the quiet sanctity of the deserted Theory Room, Marco discovered, with NTAC's focus now on rounding up the missing returnees, there was nothing urgent for him to deal with. So he decided to do some tinkering. A shipment of hardware upgrades had come in more than a week earlier, but he hadn't had time to deal with it. One advantage to being the only one in the office was that he wouldn't have to deal with the inevitable gripes from the others when implementing the upgrades would force them to share computers during the process.
While clearing off his desk and the central table in preparation, he came across the photos from the Jean Baker case. They had recently been brought out because someone had speculated there might be a connection with between Baker's virus and the 4400s' illness. The pictures including the ones he'd snapped of Diana. She was so beautiful, with her dark curls and squinty smile and bright, intelligent eyes. She was brave and smart, dedicated to her job and devoted to her child. He loved almost everything about her, except that she didn't return his deepest feelings. But that was just one part of her; it didn't define the whole of who she was. At some point, he'd need to accept that, no matter his own wishful aspirations. Just because Max was dead and had turned out to be an instrument of Maia's illness didn't mean Diana would suddenly espouse some secret infatuation with her favorite Theory Room geek. In the meantime, he'd have to deal with it as best he could because, whether he felt jilted or not, she needed his support.
After putting the file of photos in the appropriate cabinet, he unhooked Lee's computer, hefted it onto his desk and began unscrewing the side.
Just as he started on Brady's, he got a call.
"Hey, Marco." His heart skipped a beat just to hear her voice, to know nothing had happened to her on her drive to work. She sounded as though it were just another day, but there was a forced quality to her voice. He knew Max's death and Maia's illness had to be weighing heavily on her. "Tom and I need to run some things past you. You busy?"
If he had to see her, he'd rather it be alone so he might talk more freely than he would in front of Tom, but maybe it was best for both of them to have Tom around.
"Nah. And I just started a fresh pot of coffee."
"We've got a few boxes..."
"I just cleared off the table."
"Great. See you in a few minutes."
"Sure."
Putting down the receiver, he drew a deep breath then let it out slowly. There were thousands of people's lives at stake. He had done all he could do to help them, and it was not enough. He had done all he could do for the woman he loved, and it was not enough. How could he feel anything but frustrated and thwarted? But as difficult as his personal and professional feelings of inadequacy might be to avoid, they were completely irrelevant in the bigger scheme of things. What mattered now was minimizing the damage, dealing with things as best as he could. If that meant he was good for nothing more than some office space where Diana and Tom could hash things out in private, then so be it. All he had to do was try to act as normal as possible, under the circumstances, and keep out of their way. It might not be particularly easy, but it wouldn't be forever.
One way or another, it would all be over in a few days.