The scream drew his attention as soon as he had climbed the stairs to leave Marcel's.

If Tony had listened to his gut, he would have ignored the sound, left the problems of the neighborhood to the denizens of the neighborhood. When he later looked back on his decision to help, though, he felt only gratitude that he had chosen to turn back and investigate the sound.

As soon as he saw her, Tony rolled his eyes. Why this girl continued to traipse around outside her neighborhood escaped Tony's ability to reason. He wanted to pretend that he couldn't remember her name. He even caught himself saying "what's-her-name" as he laughed at the situation before him. Of course, truth be told, Tony had no trouble recollecting Marissa's name. He could laugh at her now, but that only after running away from her merely a few days before.

Marissa had wanted to leave as soon as she spoke with Leonard. She had felt so much anger toward her friends that she wanted to confront them quickly before she cooled off and her courage faltered. If she knew one thing about herself, it was that she would put off the ugly words as long as possible. In any other circumstance, she would have preferred that course of action. Today, however, she would not be speaking for herself but in defense of another, and she really wanted to follow through.

Unfortunately, circumstances aligned themselves so that she wandered around the small plaza for over an hour, and the series of events culminated with the scene that unfolded before Tony: Marissa, standing at the foot of a scaffolding as paint dripped down her hair and over her clothes before pooling at her feet and around her shoes.

Tony stood on the other side of the plaza forcing himself not to laugh.

Poor Marissa always tried so hard to help everyone, something she sometimes accomplished quite competently, but on the present occasion, as on many other occasions, she failed miserably. Leonard's dilemma had weighed on her as she headed across the plaza, but as she walked past her friend Clarice's five and dime, the older woman called out to Marissa, effectively halting her exodus.

"What is it, Clarice?" Marissa had asked pleasantly.

Clarice talked for at least fifteen minutes about incidental topics, and Marissa, who normally loved to converse, waited impatiently for the woman to end her monologue so Marissa could make her exit without insulting her friend.

Finally, Clarice looked furtively around her, a difficult task for someone whose bones creaked so often from age. "I have a favor to ask you," the woman stated plaintively.

"Anything," Marissa smiled a generous smile. "If I know how to do it, I will."

"Well," Clarice smirked as she spoke. "I need someone to make a delivery to Marcel, and the boy who works here ain't been in all day. Caught the flu or somethin'."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yes, and I'm not so old that I can't walk across the square, but I would rather not show up myself with this package."

Curious, Marissa looked into her friend's hands at a medium-sized package, something easy to carry but requiring both hands to grasp. "What is it?"

Though Marissa had never suffered from too much natural curiosity, she couldn't help but wonder at Clarice's bashful and embarrassed expression. The young woman certainly felt her share of nosiness into other's business, though she tried to rein it in. Marcel? she wondered. Marissa knew little about Marcel, but she knew that he had reached his sixth decade, about the same as Clarice. Also, Marissa knew that Marcel's wife had died over a decade before. She felt a marked impression that Clarice had grown sweet on Marcel, whether recently or some time ago, she did not know. Of course, that realization overthrew Marissa's working paradigm of the bar owner's bawdy reputation, because she respected Clarice immensely. If Clarice could like Marcel, the man couldn't be too bad.

"Never you mind, young lady," Clarice chastised. "The reason I asked you is because I thought I could trust you."

"You can!"

"Well, fine. You go right over there to the side door and give that to Peg Parker. Tell her it's from me, and she'll know what to do with it."

"Marcel's side door?" Marissa squeaked. She had only just managed to free herself from the anxiety-inducing prospect of an evening at Marcel's. How could she extricate herself again if she somehow was ensnared by Leonard or some other acquaintance? Though Marissa would have chanced a walk across a high wire for a noble cause, such a level of adventurousness as Clarice's request would require dramatic circumstances to elicit it. Clarice's nascent romance didn't seem a noble enough cause to drag Marissa from her natural reticence

"Oh," Marissa began to stammer. "I – I couldn't. M-Marcel's? I don't know anyone there, and I'm not dressed right. I've never met Peg. I wouldn't know her if I saw her. Why don't I -?"

Clarice interrupted the pathetic barrage of excuses, surprise painting the older woman's face.

"Hush, Rissa. It's okay. I'll just call one of the mice over here and pay him a nickel to deliver it." The older lady gestured to a cluster of older children, most of whom had reached double digits, and intimated her intention to request their help. Just looking at them, the old woman smiled. The mice often caused trouble to the neighborhood, but not of any serious nature. They named themselves the mice because their stated purpose was to kink up the works of the Rats. Most of the nearby citizens loved the boys.

Marissa couldn't miss the intimation that a little boy was braver than she, and she braced herself for action. "No, Clarice. I'll do it. I'm a grown up after all."

At this, Clarice snickered, and Marissa couldn't help a blush of shame.

"Really, I've got it. I can do this."

Clarice restrained her mirth, instead offering a compromise. "You just take it over to Frank, and Frank will get it to Peg. Don't worry, Miss Rissa. A lot of young ladies feel curious about Marcel's but wouldn't visit it without an excuse. It's all taboo and everything. I guess you're different. Frank will do fine. Take this over to him..." Clarice pulled a nickel out of the front pocket of her work apron.

"At least let me pay!" Marissa insisted, and taking the box, she hurried over to the boys.

"H-hello," Marissa smiled her friendliest smile. These boys didn't look friendly in return. "I'm looking for Frank."

"What do you want him for?"

"Clarice asked me to give this to him."

"A present for Frank? No fair. Give it to me, and I'll make sure he gets it."

Marissa shook her head. "Not for Frank. It's a delivery for the tavern."

"Well, seeing Frank requires an appointment."

Marissa felt ridiculously like the night Sam's friend had interrogated her: embarrassed and insecure. Insecure around a bunch of troublemaker boys? She held her head erect, raising herself to full dignity.

"Please. Tell him it's for Clarice."

"What does she want?" a voice yelled from above.

"Frank," the first boy replied.

"Stop teasing her," the voice floated down again. "I'm Frank. What d'ya want?"

"Oh, hi, Frank. Miss Clarice wanted you to take this package to Peg Parker."

As he rapidly descended the levels, Frank's voice echoed strangely around the square. "It'll cost ya. My delivery service has a price."

"Of course," Marissa agreed cheerfully. "Here." She produced a nickel.

"No good," the boy shook his head. "If I'm gonna leave my boys alone in the square, they all need a nickel. Not just me."

"But I don't have enough nickels."

"Then just give me what you have."

If her lack of funds hadn't driven her to refuse, the boy's impudence would have. Irritated at the delay, Marissa gave a small stamp of the foot. "Young man," she began scoldingly. "You need to do as I say. Miss Clarice needs your help, and I don't know why she picked a snotty little boy like you who won't even accept a nickel as payment. Do you have parents? Because I'm going to explain to Miss Clarice how kindly you treated me, and I have a feeling that they will not be happy with your conduct when Miss Clarice tells them."

As she had spoken, unbeknownst to her, a few more heads had peaked over the scaffolding. Even Frank didn't know who did it, but seconds after her tirade had begun, a huge wave of paint washed down from on high and baptized Marissa into the cruelty of street life. Now the green liquid covered almost every inch of exposed skin as well as most of her clothes. Frank rushed instantly to retrieve the package from Marissa's hands.

Though he cared little for the welfare of the girl – she wasn't hurt – Frank didn't want to lose his nickel, and even if the girl refused to pay, Miss Clarice would surely pay out. He carefully wiped the paint off of the top of the box as the liquid dripped from the girl's hair and ran over her clothes. She's got a nice shape, Frank thought mischievously before rushing to deliver the goods.

Marissa tried not to cry.

Her scream at the coldness and the shock of initial contact had melted almost immediately into the burning and misery of embarrassment. To her dismay, her scream had drawn forth several adult faces from the buildings and shops in the square. At first, she headed back toward Clarice's shop, the site of the nearest friendly face. Within moments, however, Marissa realized that removing to Clarice's would require crossing brazenly through the open plaza, and Marissa had no intention of exposing herself that way. Still, she had no idea what to do or where to go.

Watching her, Tony began to chuckle. He couldn't help himself considering the color of the paint. Green, he snickered. Could anything describe her better?

After watching her indecision, however, he began to laugh harder at his private joke. Actually, yellow would have worked, too. She's afraid of her own shadow.

However, when the girl remained immobilized even as the little twits began to surround her, Tony moved into action. If they once began to taunt, though they would cause her no serious harm, paint on her clothes would be the least of her problems. He looked down at his own clothes.

Ah, well, he sighed. Too bad he hadn't worn his work coveralls.

Sweeping into the midst of the children, Tony wrapped his arm around the crying girl's waist and, directing her by the shoulder with his other hand, he led her toward Marcel's. The boys divided instantly, one or two of them having received a kick in the pants from Tony on previous occasions.

"Who are you?" Marissa cried anxiously. She couldn't see a thing from the paint that had matted with her hair and covered her face. "Let me go!"

The voice hummed low and gentle, and Marissa almost relaxed a little at the command it held. "You're okay," it soothed. "I'm going to get you to Marcel's."

Though the voice seemed familiar, the words it spoke elicited a fresh round of sobs, and Marissa's shoulders began to shake. Tony rolled his eyes at the emotion, but he pushed her forward nonetheless.

"I-" breath, "don't-" breath, "want-" breath, "to go." Hiccup. It's the principle of the thing, she reasoned silently, though her mind didn't quite form the coherent thoughts. She had worked so hard to avoid the tavern, she didn't want her dignity to have suffered in vain.

Tony wanted to shake the emotional, quivering mess of a girl in his arms. Did she have no sense whatsoever?

He shoved her forward with a little more force. "Come on; don't be stubborn."

What had started as irritation turned into fear as the arms around her grew more insistent. Marissa couldn't help herself. She began to squirm, working to shake of the arms that restrained her. Though she tried to move her hair from her eyes, the paint that had run down her arms now dripped from her fingertips, and the attempt just smeared fresh paint all over her closed eyes rendering them unfit to open. Her sobs turned into gasps as hyperventilation came on.

As she shuddered, Tony realized that Marissa had moved past upset to near hysteria. By this time, he had reached the portico at the side of Marcel's, and after knocking, he turned the girl toward him and hugged her to him. Her lashings out were going to injure either Tony, or more likely, herself, and Tony had lost his sense of rationality. As if he shared her anxiety, she had completely discombobulated him.

"Settle down, Marissa. It's me, Tony. Mario's brother. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

"But you're taking me to Marcel's," she sobbed.

"Yes," he agreed. "I'm taking you to the safest place in this neighborhood. The Mice won't bother you inside Marcel's, and if you think the paint was bad, you wouldn't have survived what would have happened next."

"Horrid children!" Marissa exclaimed angrily. An instant later, though, her angry expression melted back into misery. "And I love children!" she wailed.

Reaching up to her face, Tony tried to brush the hair from her eyes, laughter again threatening to erupt from his mouth. This girl, he realized with surprise, amused him. Tony didn't spend much time amused. Too many problems needed to be solved, too many situations remedied. Too much injustice reigned in the world to while away the time on frivolity.

Still, the humor didn't repel him. Though funny, he didn't find her silly or ridiculous. He felt no compulsion to mock her, just to help her. No, not repelling, he thought, suddenly serious.

Instead, he found her all too interesting. With her eyes shut as they now were, and as Tony held her so close, he felt an inexplicable urge to press his mouth down onto the irresistibly full lips which she had, in trying to look up at him, placed within mere inches of his own. Her hair had somehow shielded the lower half of her face from the paint, and even half green, she looked almost irresistible.

I'm going insane, he chastised himself and, stepping back a step, he turned both of them toward the door. She had calmed down a little, and he had no more excuse to hold her.

"They wouldn't have intentionally hurt you," he assured her. "It's just that when you get them all together like that, they might not recognize when they have gone too far."

The door opened, and Tony sighed with relief at the interruption of the too intimate situation.

"Hey, Peg," Tony grinned at the shocked look on Peg's face. "The mice got a little carried away, and I have a casualty."

"I'll say!" Peg exclaimed, and Tony recognized the odd combination of pity and amusement on the woman's face. He had felt the same.

"Miss Peg! Miss Peg!" came a high-pitched voice from behind them. "I have a package from Clarice. She said you'd give me a nickel."

Frank dashed in front of Tony who tried to grab the kid's collar. Before he could protest, Peg had held out a nickel, and Tony grasped at air as the kid darted away.

From beside Tony, an incensed huff erupted. "The nerve of that boy!" Marissa proclaimed imperiously, and Tony finally lost his thin edge of control. The laughter erupted from him, and pretty soon Peg had joined in as well as several of the kitchen staff. Only several moments later did Tony recognize the shaking of the girl's shoulders, and he felt moved despite himself. Marissa stood crying next to him, and he could only laugh at her. Hardly heroic, he realized.

"Alright, Peg," he sighed in closure. "Let's see what we can do for her."

Though Marissa wanted to hit Tony, she couldn't refuse the consoling tones of Peg's voice. After fifteen minutes, Marissa had changed into clothes belonging to Doris, Leonard's fiancée. Marissa tried to feel repulsed by the denizens of the supposedly sordid establishment, especially since the place ostensibly consisted of low-lifes and hellions. She had never successfully discriminated by appearance or label alone, however, and after listening to the kind words and watching the generous actions of her new acquaintances, all Marissa's fear had fled.

By the time she and her companions joined Leonard at a table by the stage, Marissa held enough composure that she took no offense at his chuckle. "You know," he teased, "if you had come here with me in the first place, you wouldn't smell like turpentine from washin' your hair in it."

Marissa managed a weak smile, and Doris glared at Leonard while taking Marissa's hand. "Don't listen to him, honey. It's not your fault those boys are such little beasts."

If Marissa had entered the room in her normal attire, she would have wanted to crawl under the table. Doris, though, had handed her a lovely rose-hued afternoon dress, embellished with lace and chiffon. To Marissa, the dress spoke extravagance, but most of the ladies in the room wore similar styles. I really am sheltered, she grimaced. At home, the ladies sometimes donned tea dresses for dress-up occasions, but many still favored the ankle-length skirts accompanied by a high-necked blouse that stood as a provincial relic to the previous decade. Her mother had fretted over how to allow Marissa to fit in with her new neighbors but retain her modesty.

Somehow, Doris managed both, and she had gifted the same to Marissa. Everyone had treated Marissa with such kindness and compassion, she felt even more anger at the slight that her paper had leveled at Barry Johnston, whoever that may be. If Barry Johnston mattered to these people, then he must be a good guy, regardless of having his name on a list. She felt a little off kilter at the upset of her long-held paradigm, but she also felt a satisfaction in exonerating a small chunk of the human population. Marissa hated to think ill of anyone.

After receiving some sustenance and encouragement from Doris and Peg, Marissa stood to her feet and tried to take her leave. "Oh, don't go yet," Doris exclaimed. "I have a set coming up, and you've never heard me sing!"

Marissa wanted to protest, but how could she refuse Doris? "I can stay for a few minutes," she compromised, "but I really need to head home before dark."

"She really does," Tony agreed, and again Marissa glared at him. How would he know? she thought petulantly.

Doris wrapped Marissa in a hug, thanking her for staying. "Look at you, ending up here after all your protests. Every time we had lunch, I begged you to come hear me.”

“It wasn’t you, Doris!” Marissa protested.

“Oh, I’m not bothered, dearie. I know your nerves – and I know your heart. But I’m glad you get to hear me anyway.” Doris offered a warm smile. “You are just the sweetest girl I've ever known," the beautiful, young singer insisted before gliding out onto the stage.

Marissa had spent the majority of her time at the table just listening to the other ladies share stories of some of the regular patrons of the club, and though Tony and Leonard laughed at much of the more comedic portrayals, neither spoke much.

From time to time, Tony would glance toward Marissa, and she noticed with a mix of appreciation and embarrassment that every time her glass of water emptied, Tony would lean over a whisper in Leonard’s ear, and Leonard would wave to one of the many servers wandering the floor who quickly refilled the empty receptacle.

“You don’t have to do that,” she finally corrected Tony in a murmur. “I don’t need any more water.”

“Would you like coffee?” he queried.

“I don’t need anything,” she complained. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”

Tony did not want to embarrass her, but she seemed completely unwilling to think of herself. Purposely turning in her direction, masking the action by waving at an acquaintance across the room, he replied to her in a low voice, leaning down to catch her downcast eyes. “No one is bothered, Marissa. These people love their jobs. They work for Marcel, who runs an excellent business, and this club is exciting and full of great customers. And it distresses me to see you neglected.”

“Fine,” Marissa finally huffed a self-conscious laugh. “I’ll take a hot tea.”

“With honey?” he pressed.

“With honey,” she agreed, her lips curving up at the corners despite her awkwardness. Though part of her thrilled at the consideration, she found the attention pained her. She could forward herself if necessary around her friends, but in a new situation she preferred to stay in the background. Still, he seemed so casual about the request that she decided she had been silly to refuse him.

The afternoon guests of the club had filtered in during the meal, and soon the companions found themselves among a significant crowd. The simmering tone of Doris’s ballad floated through the microphone, wrapping Marissa up in its warmth. With the pleasant sensation, every remnant of negative feeling from the afternoon's events seemed to dissipate into oblivion. Marissa lasted through several tunes, both melodic and raucous, and by the time she decided she had to leave, the club seemed fully familiar.

When she lay her hand on the table to grab Leonard’s attention, Tony noticed the motion, too, and turned his attention to hear what she would say.

“It’s time for me to go, Leonard,” she insisted. “I have an early morning delivery.

Leonard stood to his feet, and Marissa clasped his hand in farewell. "I'll talk to them, Leonard. I'll take care of this; I promise."

"I know you will, Rissa. I told you; I trust you." Leonard leaned in and placed a friendly kiss on Marissa's cheek. To his own surprise, Tony felt a sudden urge to step between them.

By the time Leonard turned to Tony, Tony had restrained his look of irritation. "Make sure she gets home safely," Leonard commanded.

"I always do," Tony grunted, and Leonard looked quizzically at his friend.

Marissa, too, turned to try and divine his meaning. Faking a casual smile, Tony raised his eyebrows a tad at the girl who now stood calmly a few feet from him. A genuine grin spread across his face as he realized that he liked her better when she was quivering and covered in paint. She was less supercilious and more grateful when she needed his help.

If he were honest with himself, he felt a little neglected as she doled out her gratitude to his friend. Hadn't Tony wrenched her out of the grasp of the little rodents and swept her away to safety? Well, he hadn’t done it for the gratitude, so he would not demand it where she did not feel it. Still, he had no intention of leaving her to her own devices.

Waving to Doris, Marissa headed back to the little hallway that led to the back rooms. She rushed out so quickly that Tony almost had to run to catch up to her.

"I don’t need a chaperone," she huffed at Tony when he reached her side.

Shaking his head, Tony thought about stopping in his tracks to let her try her journey alone. She somehow seemed recalcitrant about her own independence, and with all his responsibilities for Jerome, Tony didn't have time to defend himself to an insolent girl. When he remembered the look on her face as Sam Lincoln had tormented her, though, Tony couldn't bring himself to leave her to a similar fate again. Despite her protest, he marched beside her until she reached the square by the bookstore.

To his surprise, Marissa turned left when she reached the sidewalk rather than right toward her home.

"Where are you going?" he interrogated.

She turned to him in her usual imperious style and deigned to answer him. "I'm going to see your brother." The emphasis on the word "your" seemed to imply that she regretted the relationship between her good friend and Tony. Again, Tony shook his head, unsure how he had earned her utter disdain. Would she really have danced like that with him if she disliked him? And what did she have against him anyway? Had he so offended her by laughing at her? He had thought the ensuing couple of hours would have erased the discomfort of the memory for her. Apparently not, he mused.

Of course, the thought of his laughter resurrected in his mind the reason for his laughter, and when he thought of her half covered in green paint, he couldn't resist another smile.

Moments later, he followed Marissa into his pop's office. She effectively dismissed him by her refusal to speak to him, and he watched in irritation as she knocked on the walls calling out to Mario. After five minutes of fruitless knocking, Marissa huffed down into the very chair in which she had sat a few weeks before, equally as disheveled, though without the hole in her stockings.

Tony could sense the awkwardness of her frustration. To his credit, he no longer felt like laughing at her. Instead, he felt a strange mixture of sympathy for her situation, irritation that she seemed so helpless, and anger at whoever had caused her so much unhappiness. At some point on their journey to his pop's office, Tony had recognized that most of Marissa's anger, though currently directed at him, grew less from the spilled paint and forced expedition into Marcel's, and more from some cause which he could not pinpoint. Tony didn't like the strained silence, but he wouldn't leave the turbulent woman alone in such a state.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" he finally ventured after Marissa had sat still for nearly five minutes, chin in her hands.

Startled to awareness, Marissa turned to face Tony with a deep sense of confusion. This man, Tony - Mario's brother – seemed to bring her catastrophe wherever he went. Or maybe he just happened by at inopportune times, she reflected. For some inexplicable reason, he just always seemed to raise her irritation, a near-impossible feat. If she listened to her mind, she would remove herself from his presence as soon as possible. In every case when he appeared, though, the misadventure had occurred before his or independent from his arrival, so surely she couldn't blame him. Still, whenever Marissa felt the most out of control, there was this Tony.

She tried not to restrain her irritated look. "No, thank you," she leveled a bit disdainfully, and Tony shot her a wry look as he took in her tone. At some point, either she needed to figure out how to like him, or he needed to set her adrift. He had compassion on her solitude, but there was a fine line between offering aid and proving a pest.

The sound of a turning knob interrupted both of their thoughts, and Marissa felt heated anticipation to see who would walk through the door. In her experience, only three people regularly entered the office, and she held a sixty-seven percent chance that she wanted desperately to talk to whoever now entered.

For Tony's part, he felt a marked relief at the breaking of the awkward silence that had rustled with so much irritation. Still, if Mario had walked through that door, Tony wouldn't vouch for his response. An unexpected rush of testosterone at the thought of seeing his brother comfort Marissa for her supposed injury at Tony's hands flushed Tony's mind. Tony hoped, rather than Mario, he would see Barbara enter through the door. If she now showed up, Tony could flee the blistering confines of the tension in the air and leave Marissa to feminine ministrations. All the better, he thought to himself, since the girl needed a mother or a sister at the moment.

Neither of the room's occupants felt much relief when Professor Garner walked through the door instead of Mario or Barbara, though Tony and Marissa realized that they should have expected his entrance. After all, the office belonged to the professor.

When Professor Garner entered the room, he pulled up at the sight of the two young people now occupying the space. To be honest, he had seen Marissa in a similarly muddled state before, but his astonishment didn't grow from her disarray. Instead, he noted two things upon entering the office. Marissa looked irritated, an emotion so foreign on her face that the professor longed to banish it immediately. If he had sculpted in his mind one absolute description of Marissa's character, he would call it merciful. She wore little mercy on her face at the moment.

Even more astonishing, his extremely independent, competent youngest son looked helpless and disarrayed. One thing Professor Garner had never beheld on his youngest son's face was helplessness. Tony helped everyone. Tony's helpfulness had restrained the professor from pressing more for Tony to pick back up on his studies. Though the professor expected that his youngest son would one day finish school, he also admired Tony's resourcefulness and his determination to stand up for others. Tony's current expression left Professor Garner at a complete loss as to what to do.

As soon as she saw the professor, Marissa jumped to her feet.

"Have you seen Mario?" she pleaded hopefully, and the professor noted with surprise the tightening of Tony's jaw. A light lit in Paul Garner's mind, and now a small smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

"I haven't," he admitted. "But I expect him any minute. Do you want to wait for him here?"

Her words rushed out, and the professor still couldn't accept the sense of irritation that radiated from her. "Will Barbara be with him? I need to talk to Barbara, too."

"I'm not sure. Aren't you meeting with them tonight?" he reasoned, and again he noted the grinding of Tony's teeth.

The thought of her friends not coming tormented Marissa. She didn't want to wait until the night, the cool night when her frustration with them would have long subsided, and she would have lost all impetus for confrontation. If she were to successfully follow through with her intentions, she needed to see her friends now, while her ire stilled smoldered.

"I am," she agreed with a sigh, and the professor now recognized her usual resignation.

Impotent, she thought as she felt the ember begin to snuff out under the ash of delay.

Unwilling to see Mario without the prospect of confrontation, Marissa turned back to Tony, much to both men's surprise. "You can walk me home now," she offered without preface.

Tony couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh at her attitude or to yell at the presumptuousness of her words. Up until that moment, she had largely ignored him, but now she turned to him as if, in allowing him to walk her home, she bestowed him with a great honor. He decided to laugh.

"I have somewhere to go," Tony flung with nonchalance, but he felt immediately reprimanded by the pout of insecurity on Marissa's lips. The look of dismay on her face seemed to communicate that he had misjudged her motives, and maybe her irritation had not originated from him.

"Oh," she puffed sadly. "That's fine."

Professor Garner leveled a reproachful look at his son. "He can take you on his way wherever he has to go," the professor insisted, an attempt at comfort for the girl, and a reprimand for the son.

"Actually," Marissa shrugged her shoulders dismissively, "I just realized I have somewhere to go, too. I'll be fine by myself."

She smiled comfortingly at the professor, unwilling to catch even a glimpse of Tony. Without another word, she rose from her seat and crossed over to the professor, placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. Tony's heart clutched at the sight. Apparently, she had already grown attached to his father, and the fact spoke well of her judgment. When Tony remembered the gentle hug that Marissa had bestowed on Clarice in the square that night, he began to think that this Marissa Erinson held the capacity to love everyone she met.

"I insist," he entreated, not liking the restraint with which she repelled him. Everyone likes me, Tony reasoned; at least, everyone he wanted to like him. Part of Tony's usefulness to Jerome stemmed from the young man's ability to elicit cooperation from those he encountered. No cooperation from this girl, he realized.

"No, I insist. I'm fine," she persisted. "I'll see Mario and Barbara tonight, and I have some errands to run in the meantime."

"Are you sure?" Professor Garner pressed. "Tony doesn't have anything to do."

"I'm sure," she replied with a gentle smile at the professor. "Thanks for your help again. I feel much better now."

The professor knew full well that he had offered her no real help. Still, she seemed at least calmer as she crossed to the door and twisted the knob. Before walking out, she turned back to the professor one last time and flashed him a sweet smile. Then she turned her back on the room, still completely ignoring Tony and letting the door shut between them.

"Fine," Tony huffed aloud, though he had intended to merely think the invective. He glanced up at his pop and felt a marked irritation at the smirk on the old man's lips. Rather than reprimand his father's mirth, which would have reinforced whatever assumptions Paul Garner had made, Tony stood to his feet and took his leave.

"I really do have somewhere to go. Do you need me to do anything for you while I'm out?"

The solicitousness more than anything else convinced Professor Garner that he had just witnessed the beginning of the deconstruction of his youngest son. The professor worked hard to restrain an all-out grin.

"Actually, not right now. You see about those tasks you need doing. I'll let you know if I need something."

Without a word, Tony strode out the door, and if the professor divined rightly, his youngest son's tasks involved seeing a young lady safely to her destination, whether she welcomed to his assistance or not.