I promise there’s a translation for the Italian in this chapter at the bottom. (smiles) Also, if you speak Italian and I've gotten anything wrong, feel free to correct me. I use a translator for these things because I never have anyone on hand to look over my translations in good time.

Also, shameless plug: I have a new story I've started posting. It's called Seven Plus One; it's the rewrite of The Lost Art of Doing Nothing. It's a romance, and will probably end up being at least a little slashy; if you're into that genre, I'd appreciate you stopping by to read it and leave me a review on it. Romance isn't really my thing when it comes to writing, so I'm incredibly insecure about it. Thanks!

Chapter Thirty-Five:

Memoriam

“You sound like shit, Stefan.”

He couldn’t help the faint smile that drifted across his lips when he heard the words. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, he shifted so that his cell phone rested between his shoulder and his ear. His reflection stared back at him with tired eyes–the humor never reached them as he watched his long fingers working at his tie. “Thanks, Samara. Your blunt honesty warms my heart.”

“I’m serious. What’ve you been doing, drinking acid? Eden would freak if she could hear you now.”

Damn it, the knot was wrong. For the third time. Now he remembered why he hated wearing ties so much. Sighing, he undid the cursed strip of black and started over. Fiddle, fiddle, fiddle. “Acid? That sounds dangerous. If anything it would be the crappy coffee this hotel serves. I think they used the same grounds for their fourth refill this morning.”

“Oh, that’s sick!” Samara groaned. “Great, thanks a lot, Stefan.”

“Anytime. Hey, what are you doing making the call, anyway? Reni usually does it, or Amon.”

“Yeah? Well I regret to inform you, sir, that both are currently otherwise occupied.”

“Really. Anything special happened yet?”

“Actually, yes, if by ‘special’ you mean, ‘really fucked-up’.”

Stefan let his hands drop as Ellis came up behind him. His brother gave him bunny-ears in the mirror, then turned him around and studied his appearance. Ellis sighed, “You really are hopeless with a tie, aren’t you.”

Behind him, Bryan smiled and set a hand on his shoulder; both of them were already fully dressed save for their black suit jackets. “I told you, Ellis.”

“Yeah, yeah. Didn’t you ever teach Stefan the ways of a gentleman? Oh wait, I forget who I’m talking to.” Ellis rolled his eyes as Bryan snickered. “Stefan, your brother is an idiot sometimes.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Can it, fucker.”

“Hey, hey!”

“What? At least I’m being honest. You and that girl you hooked up with when you were sixteen...ow!”

“That was only once, you jerk, and it was a mistake.”

“Bry–ow! Bryan, cut it out–ow! Do you not see me trying to make our youngest brother look presentable here? I’m doing the world a fav–owowow! ”

Stefan shook his head as Ellis pulled back and Bryan followed. “Ellis, I thought you were helping me with my tie?”

“I’m a little–ow!–busy, Stefan–ow! Bryan, Jesus....”

On the other end of the line, Samara snickered, and Stefan remembered that he was supposed to be on the phone. He lifted it back to his ear and started over to the desk, dodging his brothers gracefully, as Samara said, “You’re wearing a tie? Oh, take pictures! This I have got to see.”

Stefan sighed, not in the mood for banter. “Forget it. What’s so fucked up that you had to abuse emphasis to mention it to me?”

“Oh. Well, just that the one time you’re not around we manage to get into loads of trouble.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised,” he muttered, turning obediently as his brothers stopped their games and Ellis returned to fixing his tie. “What kind of trouble?” Stefan asked.

“Hmm, let’s see...well, we had a mission yesterday. Got to tangle with Agis again, a little. Reni wasn’t kidding when he told us the fucker could do shit. He and Eden are the only ones who got in on any action–the rest of us were either flat on our backs or suspended. He put Robyn and me in some kind of glass dome-thing. Bulletproof, or so sis says–I was unconscious for most of the fight, so I can’t really back that up. Anyway, like I said, it was Reni and Eden, and then I guess it was just Reni, ‘cause Eden got suspended, too. Earlier Amon tried to fight him and ended up as one of the people who got thrown into the asphalt...he’s got three cracked ribs, some scrapes, and a mild concussion–which reminds me, someone needs to wake him up and make sure he’s okay...Eden! ...All right! Sorry, Stefan...so anyway, that’s him. He and Kanesuma got the worst of it–she got whiplash–except for Reni. Reni...well, he’s not doing so great. You know those few days they spent rebuilding his shields?”

Stefan bit his lip. “Yes,” he answered slowly and warily, watching Ellis finishing up his tie.

“Thrown completely out the window. Agis totally crashed him–apparently he’s messed up really badly this time. He’s in Medical now–they’re doing a complete overhaul in his head.”

“Oh, fuck–“ Stefan reached back blindly for the edge of the chair as his legs gave out; alarmed, Ellis and Bryan hovered over him worriedly. Stefan shook his head at them and closed his eyes, tuning them out as he slumped into the chair. “Hell,” he whispered, feeling dizzy. “Is he going to be all right? How long are they keeping him there?”

“Three days, at the very least. Once they’ve determined the extent of the damage and why Reni hasn’t regained consciousness yet–they think he might be fixing it all himself–they’ll be able to give us a better estimate. I’m sure he’ll be fine, he just...needs some sorting out, that’s all.”

The last sentence was not an answer to his first question; it was Samara trying to reassure him. Stefan appreciated it, but now that the adrenaline was fading off he just felt sick. “Okay,” he murmured numbly. “I get it. The rest of you are...”

“We’re fine, absolutely. I only got a little cut on the temple; Robyn, Eden and Arina got off scot-free, no problem.” Samara’s voice slowed and softened after a pause. “What about you?” she asked quietly.

Stefan sighed and glanced up at his brothers. They were having a silent conversation a few feet away, speaking with looks and gestures. Bryan looked frustrated as he moved for Stefan; Ellis cut him off, making a sharp slash with his hand as he gave Bryan a firm look. Bryan glared at him, and Stefan knew exactly what was going on: he’d startled them both with his sudden collapse, and Bryan was afraid that maybe something was wrong with him. Ellis knew better. It’s work, he was clearly explaining to Bryan now. You don’t ask him about work. That’s a private matter, you understand? Bryan turned away, even more frustrated, to stand at the window; Ellis wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged a little until Bryan turned into him for a hug.

Stefan looked away. Bryan knew Ellis better than he did, and he had to respect that. “I’m alive,” he told Samara honestly, feeling tired and broken-down. “I’m hanging on.”

“I was wrong before,” Samara told him gently. “You don’t sound like shit. You just sound...dead. Bleak.” And she wasn’t the over-caring type, but the concern rang in her voice like a bell. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound like this before. It’s a little scary.”

“Sorry. Hard to sound any other way when you’re attending your mother’s funeral in two hours and you’re running on five hours of sleep.”

“Things aren’t going well there, huh.”

“I wish they were. I added all of yesterday to my own personal hell.”

“Wow. That bad?”

“You have no idea.” Stefan rubbed his eyes as Ellis came up and touched his shoulder.

“Stefan, it’s almost time to leave.”

Wonderful. “Okay, Ellis. Look, Sam, ah...we’re getting ready to leave, and I’ve got a few more things to take care of, so...I’ll call again later, okay?”

“Sure, Stefan. You don’t have to if you don’t feel like it, though, all right? I’ll pass on your call to the others, tell them you say hello. Take care, Stefan.”

“Mmm. Bye, Sam.” He ended the call and turned off his phone as he was standing, stopping to rest his hands palms-down on the desk and lowering his head. As he closed his eyes, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you feeling all right?” Bryan asked him gently. “I know you’ve had a hard few days...”

“Mm-hmm. I feel a little sick, but I think it will pass.” God, he hoped it would. “Bryan, the funeral...closed casket, right?” Please let it be so.

“Yes, Stef.” He knew Bryan could hear the emotions in his voice, and his brother seemed to understand. “The coffin’s been nailed shut, or so they told me.”

“Good.” Stefan shuddered once and took a deep breath, cutting it off when the nausea rose a little. He took his weight off the table and straightened, smiling thinly as Bryan rubbed his back. “Thanks, Bryan.”

“Guys,” Ellis called, peering around the wall from the front hall. He held up the keys to his car, his voice quiet and somber. “Time to go.”

Samara sighed as she set the phone back in its cradle and turned; Arina was only a few steps away, arms crossed as though she were cold.

“How is he?” she asked, her mauve eyes drifting to the phone almost uncertainly. It sounded like there was a note of guilt in her voice.

“Probably even worse off than we are,” Samara answered, passing her as she started out of the kitchen. “He sounded terrible.”

“Oh,” Arina answered softly, eyes on the ground as she followed Samara out. “If I had known you were going to call him, I would have–I might have wanted to speak with him.”

“Too bad,” Samara said, not unkindly. “He wasn’t much up for conversation anyway, Arina. Headed off to his mother’s funeral and all that. It wouldn’t have been very exciting.”

Arina sighed. “No,” she said softly, that lingering note still in her voice, “but it would have been him, regardless.”

Samara frowned and stopped, turning to face her. Arina stopped too, looking vaguely surprised, and Samara gave her a good once-over, her gaze serious. “What is it?” Arina asked, bewildered. “Did I spill pancake mix on my shirt or something?”

“No,” Samara murmured, turning back around. “It’s nothing; forget it.” She made a mental note to ask Amon later about whether Arina had ever had any special interaction with Stefan.

(10:45 A.M.)

“How are you holding up?” Ellis asked them both quietly.

Stefan met his eyes and found comfort in the grayish blue. “I’m all right,” he murmured softly, glancing over at his older brother. Bryan had been oddly quiet since they left the hotel–all of them had been, though, until they had arrived at the funeral home. Then they’d been surrounded by people. Unable to keep entirely to themselves were they anyone at all, and even less so when they were the sons–acknowledged and not–of the deceased. All of them must have spoken with at least thirty people total, and the day wasn’t over. “Bryan?”

“Fine,” Stefan’s older brother murmured automatically, his voice mechanic. They were standing in the foyer, and Bryan was looking over at the entrance to the little chapel with a distance in his eyes.

Stefan followed his gaze and shivered a little as he took in the abundance of flowers–white carnations, red pansies with white faces, yellow zinnias. Dark crimson roses.

Well, the zinnias were a nice color change, at least.

“No, you’re not,” Stefan countered his brother, remembering how he’d answered Ellis. “You can’t be, not with that look on your face. And none of us are fine, besides. We’re at our mother’s funeral.”

Bryan laughed; it came out weak and cheerless. “Right,” he replied sadly, shaking his head. “How could I forget.”

As Ellis touched his shoulder, Stefan reached up and gently turned his older brother’s gaze toward him. “Hey,” he murmured softly. “I know we’re at a somber occasion, but I’ve never seen you so quiet. Bryan, what’s the matter?”

His brother dropped his eyes for a minute as he struggled to compose himself. “I....” He sighed and met Stefan’s gaze again, swallowing hard as his hands came up to feather over his brother’s. “I feel all wrong, Stef. Like I want to run away,” he mumbled unhappily. “It just...I mean...we tried, you know? We tried so hard to make things work when we were younger, and this just...God, Stefan...I feel so sick inside because it’s like if I had tried to do more, tried to help her more when I helped you, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened, maybe we wouldn’t have lost them both–“

His voice finally broke on the last word and Stefan let out a breath, hugging his brother tightly as Bryan shuddered and whimpered in his arms. He felt his eyes burning with the onset of tears and lowered his head as Ellis managed somehow to hug them both just as tightly, forming a little cluster to block a part of people’s way. He didn’t care about them, though. Not like he cared about this.

“Bryan, no,” he pleaded, torn between crying or screaming. “Don’t. This was not your fault, Bryan. It was not your fault. You’re right; we tried, and we couldn’t try any harder. We didn’t know. Don’t blame yourself...it wasn’t your fault.” The tears won out; his throat was closing too much for a scream anyway.

Bryan sucked in a ragged, torn breath, clinging to Stefan as if he were the only stable point in a sea of thrashing horrors. “I’m so sorry, Mom,” he mumbled tearfully, muffling his words in the shoulder of Stefan’s suit jacket. “I’m so sorry.”

The three of them were the last to toss their flowers into the hole where the grave would be. They each landed on top of the nailed casket, delicate and beautiful–so unlike the death of the woman they were for.

The flower Ellis tossed was a purple hyacinth–it was supposed to be significant of sorrow, if Stefan remembered his flower meanings right. Bryan’s was a red rose; he bit his lip and clasped his hands when it left his fingertips, hardly noticing when a thorn caught one of them, and he went to join Ellis a few feet away.

Stefan moved forward and looked down at the coffin for a long time. The people around him were silent and watchful. Stefan withdrew a small, folded piece of white memo paper from his pocket and swallowed, taking a deep breath. He remembered everything on the paper, having written the message to his mother himself–words in pen, and signatures, because he’d gotten his brothers to sign at the bottom before he wrote anything, and gave them no explanation. He’d finished it all later, after Ellis and Bryan had finally gotten to sleep. Then he’d signed it himself, just above the other signatures, with his name in black ink and the tear stains that smudged the very end of the “n”. He’d stared at it for a long time after, knowing that the words expressed mutual feelings for all three of them.

Stefan extended his arm over the casket, keeping his face carefully blank. He let the note and his white chrysanthemum drop from his trembling fingers, turned, and walked away.

I wish you hadn’t done it. I will miss you more than you could ever know. I love you more than I could ever express.

Stefan.

The woman walked off and he closed his eyes, wondering if there was somewhere he could go to escape all the people. An endless sea of them...nameless faces who had known his mother. Worked with her–when she still worked–and were sorry to see such a bright woman go. Stefan hadn’t seen any of them look even remotely close to crying, yet. Even Ellis’s father, her first husband....But there had been a quality to his sadness that separated him from everyone else; a sort of genuineness in his remorseful gravity that said he had known more of Ilaria Anna DiProvo (Langue Bashkir) than just the pretty face and aristocratic behavior everyone else had witnessed. They were all sorry to see her go, but not sad to lose her as a friend–merely as an acquaintance. Stefan supposed he couldn’t blame them–his mother had come to America from Italy when she was twenty-two, and she had never been a largely trusting person. She hadn’t made many friends, not even when she was younger; it made the number of people that had attended her funeral, surprising.

Stefan had never met a very large majority of the people–some of them, he was surprised to learn, had come from Italy to be here. He couldn’t help but wonder why. Why would someone attend the funeral of someone else, that had only been a mutual acquaintance and that they had not spoken with for maybe more than twenty years? He tried to consider his mother’s job–perhaps she had helped these people in some large way, as a doctor or something, and they had been waiting to repay or thank her somehow. But, Stefan realized suddenly, she had never talked about her life in Italy, back when they had all still been a true family and not living their lives separately. Stefan had no idea what she had done when she lived in Italy, or why she had immigrated, and he suspected Bryan didn’t know, either.

No matter what, though, he was getting very tired of having to speak Italian. Stefan couldn’t count three times over, on both hands, the number of times condolences had been offered to him in his mother’s first language–it was a beautiful language, and he was sick of it.

Sighing, he turned with the intent to find at least one of his brothers–and nearly collided with the beautiful brunette in the long red dress holding a thin, fluted glass of dark red liquid. He reached out and caught her by the hand on reflex, saving her from spilling her drink, and found he wasn’t surprised when she murmured her thanks in Italian. Oh, great, another one.

She straightened and regarded him almost knowingly, a faint smile of understanding on her full red lips. “Ah, Stefano,” she greeted him, with the kind of warmth one’s friend shows to their host’s unknown house-guest. “This must be a very trying time for you.”

Well, if she was speaking Italian, he had no choice but to do the same, if only out of respect. Squaring his shoulders, he braced himself and was thankful he’d bothered to learn the language when he was younger–at the beginning of the day it had been difficult to recall, after so many years of no use, but now it came almost as fluidly to him as English did. “Yes, for me and my brothers. It was…very unexpected.”

“Of course...but it is good to see you again, even under the circumstances. This aside, you are looking quite well.” She smiled.

Stefan was momentarily caught off-guard. He couldn’t remember having ever seen the woman before, and yet she believed that they had once met. He decided after a few seconds of thought that maybe she was right–his mother may have introduced him to some friends of hers at some point or another, when he was a very young child.

“And you as well, my lady. We have not seen each other since I was a small child; I admit it surprises me that my mother continued to keep in touch with her contacts from Italy even after she stopped working with them.”

The woman laughed, but the warmth was suddenly gone. Now that it had been replaced by sternness, Stefan found he missed it. “Oh, your mother never stopped working, Stefan. Do not be so bitter towards her; it is true she could have picked a better way to grieve for her lost lover, but she was always a stubborn woman. And did you ever try to stop her from drinking?”She frowned disapprovingly as he lowered his gaze.

Stefan wasn’t quite sure what to say to her. Had he ever tried to stop his mother from drinking? No...he hadn’t. Somehow, the thought had never even occurred to him. “…Please forgive my ignorance,” he said at last, his voice low and sorrowful.

The sound of tinkling chimes drew his attention; he looked up and toward the source, where he found Ellis standing near the front of the crowd. From Stefan’s distance, he did not look as tired as Stefan knew he must feel–he only appeared quiet. Reserved.

“Grazie tutto per venire,” Ellis said, clearly but quiescently. “La mia madre era una grande donna e per un certo tempo ha riempito abbastanza bene la sua occupazione di miei fratelli e me.” He inclined his head, raising his glass, and murmured, “Alla mia madre.”

There was a solemn chorus of, “Alla Ilaria,” and everyone sipped their drinks.

Stefan took an extra swallow of his and nearly choked on it when a hand grasped his right shoulder. He turned as he heard Bryan’s voice, asking in English if he could interrupt; Stefan was so grateful for the reprieve from Italian that he thought he might collapse. That could have been his exhaustion doing him a turn, though. “Bryan,” he greeted, somehow managing to compose the relief in his voice until it sounded like breathlessness from near-asphyxiation by water.

His brother nodded once, silent now; his eyes drifted between Stefan and the woman in the red dress. Quickly, Stefan turned to her, and managed to return her smile. “Me scusi, per favore,” he murmured, and inclined his head before turning to walk away with Bryan.

“Who was that woman?” Bryan asked quietly, as he and Stefan maneuvered carefully through groups of people chatting.

Stefan sighed and stopped near one of the windows, reaching out to take Bryan’s elbow before he could get any farther. There was a little bit of breathing room, where they stood, but mixed conversations in English and Italian surrounded them on three sides. The Italian was predominant; Stefan could feel a headache creeping up on him. “I don’t know,” he admitted helplessly, shrugging. “Another one of Mom’s co-workers, I guess...why, is something wrong?”

“No,” Bryan said, shaking his head. “I was just curious. I think the only people here who speak English are you, me, Ellis, his father, and some of the people from Mom’s last job. I’m drowning in a language I don’t know.”

Stefan blinked and leaned against the wall, a little surprised but mostly weary. “You never learned Italian? Mom used to speak it at random intervals, back when....” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you never learned Italian.”

Bryan shrugged. “Yeah, well,” he muttered. “It’s funny; Ellis has to translate for me, or I can’t communicate with ninety-five percent of the guests. Mom really didn’t make any friends over here, did she?”

“Guess not,” Stefan murmured, closing his eyes. He opened them again when a cool hand touched his cheek, smiling into it absently. “Hi, Ellis.”

“Hey. Everything okay?” Ellis asked, speaking to him as much as he was Bryan.

“Yeah,” Bryan said, glancing at Stefan. “I was just telling Stefan how you have to translate Italian for me or I’m useless in conversation.”

Ellis chuckled. “It’s true,” he said, amused. “Without me you would be lost, Bryan.”

“Of course. That’s why I keep you around, Ellis. Obviously.” Bryan’s lips turned up.

“I love you too, you pathetic little nobody.” Ellis grinned at Bryan and then turned a softer smile to Stefan. “You look exhausted, Stef,” he observed gently.

Stefan hummed lightly in agreement. “Haven’t gotten much sleep recently. I had to lie to Sam this morning about sleeping last night. The medics back at HQ would have dragged me into the Recovery ward already, I think.”

“That girl you were talking to this morning, you mean?” Ellis’s smile faded, replaced by a frown. “What’d you tell her?”

“Five hours–yes, I did get less than that. Much less.” In fact, he hadn’t gotten any. Calculations in his head told him that he was running on a little less than half the amount of sleep he should have gotten for the past three days, and very little of what he had gotten had been restful.

“Deve essere il suo senso sottile di chiedere una bottiglia dei sonniferi in pillole di essere riempito giù la sua gola,” a passing man muttered to his colleague.

“Hey!” Ellis retorted, shocked. “Non dovreste dire le cose come quello!”

Bryan frowned, taking a step forward. “What did he say?” he asked, confused.

“Me scusi, per favore!” The man winced at being overheard and stopped, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Stavo scherzando soltanto....”

“He presented an ill-timed joke.” Stefan straightened up. “Ellis–hey!” He stepped forward and gripped his brother’s shoulders as Ellis moved toward the poor man. “Cut it out, Ellis, I haven’t been hurt--”

“Ora chieda scusa al mio fratello,” Ellis demanded, narrowing his eyes.

The man immediately turned to Stefan and stammered out, “M-me scusi, sono molto spiacente!”

“Arrestilo, Ellis,” Stefan murmured, close to his brother’s ear. He let his brother go as Ellis finally relaxed, and sighed, turning to the Italian. “Non c’è problema. Va pacificamente, il signore.”

The man nodded and let his friend lead him away, casting nervous glances back at Ellis occasionally until the two disappeared into the crowd. Stefan watched him go, aware of the fact that they had gained a bit of an audience, and let out a long sigh, sinking back against the windowsill again. “Ellis, don’t do that again,” he murmured chastely, rubbing his forehead with a hand. “It may have been a poor joke, but it did not deserve such an overreaction.”

“Fine, sorry,” Ellis apologized, sighing himself.

Bryan’s frown deepened. “I missed all of that,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “What was all that Italian about?”

Stefan closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders, hoping to ease some of the tension in his body. Briefly he wondered if a glass of the red wine would settle his stomach a little, then figured it would probably have the opposite effect and dismissed the idea. “That man overheard my comment about how much sleep I’ve been getting and made a bad joke about it. Ellis got pissed off and demanded an apology, which was immediately given. And I’m too tired to babysit someone I look up to, Ellis, so will you just relax?”

“I said I was sorry,” Ellis muttered, not looking at him.

“Okay.” Bryan set a hand on both their shoulders. “I think we’ve had enough of this, and you will agree because I say so. We’re going back to the hotel room. I don’t know how you managed to speak Italian for three hours on less than five hours of sleep, but you, Stefan, are going to bed when we get back. Got it?”

Stefan groaned. “Thank you God, yes.”

“People are leaving anyway,” Ellis murmured, apparently over his anger. “Let’s go; we can pick up sandwiches or something for dinner on the way back.”

“Oh, don’t,” Stefan moaned, leaning briefly against Bryan’s shoulder. “I’m so tired the thought of eating anything makes me feel sick.”

“I’ll pick up something later on, Ellis, so be patient,” Bryan coaxed gently, leading both of his brothers outside. It was raining–go figure.

So, translation time!

“Thank you all for coming. My mother was a great woman, and for a time she filled her occupation with my brothers and me quite well. To my mother.”

“Sounds like he’s asking for a bottle of sleeping pills to be crammed down his throat.”

“Hey! You shouldn’t say things like that!”

“Excuse me, please! I was only joking...”

“Apologize to my brother now.”

“Excuse me, I’m very sorry!”

“Stop it, Ellis. There is no problem. Go peacefully, sir.”