Teaser:"It's just as well," she said suddenly, allowing a small, bittersweet smile to flit across her face, gone just as quickly. "The first time never lasts."
Series: Nothing to Write Home About, Story XVI
Crossover: Alias/The L Word
Characters: Marina, Jenny, Francesca, Sydney.

--

There was no signifying action when Marina Derevko decided she simply could not take it anymore. What she did remember was the realization that changed things from bearable to unbearable: the knowledge that her mother's truths were buried in lies.

Perhaps it had already been decided, that evening at dinner where her mother challenged her to change her name, see if she could escape the prophecy that so eclipsed her family. Katya was a Derevko, she should have known better than to underestimate her own flesh and blood.

Marina did not grow up with her mother's ethics. She still flinched at the sight of blood, she closed the pain inside herself when she saw what her mother and aunt were capable of, when she truly understood what world Rambaldi created.

She remembered normal, unlike her mother, who chose never to look back past the KGB prisons she told Marina had held her against her will, to her secret meetings she did not tell Marina about until much, much too late.

Marina understood the way of it, even as an impetuous woman of twenty-six. She understood that her mother was simply the muscle, the killer – Irina, with her calculating cat-eyes and gift for deception, was the true leader. Katya even resented her for it, but buried her doubts behind leather and prophecies, discipline, fascinated with Irina's other life – the one where she was a wife and mother.

That is what Marina was led to believe. What she was told.

She feared her aunt, but she had loved her as well. Irina showed no emotion in the face of the terrorists and killers on her payroll, but there were moments when she would stop, show a smile for Marina, a softness in her face that Marina knew better than to trust, but clung to just the same.

She had had an over-abundance of love as a child, too much at times, she told herself. Now, her mother's affections were handed over with orders, because Marina could not be trusted to kill, but she was known for her composure, and her abilities as a thief.

Francesca Wolff had been a weakness that she was sure her mother did not appreciate. Marina had only meant to have relief, swallowed whole in the form of a woman who was beautiful, experienced, and interested.

The fact that she had not been frightened by their first encounter had intrigued Marina, and her obvious interest in her, despite that, had been rather addictive. The explosive night of sex she had expected – the offer to run away with her, she had not.

It was ludicrous and not even worth thinking about, but Marina let the offer fester, months passed and she could not get Francesca and her offer out of her mind.

Katya tolerated Marina's affairs, provided Marina understood the rules. One-night stands were allowed, relationships were not. Francesca had escaped her mother's notice simply because Katya had been on another assignment, trusting Marina to complete her task.

She should have known better.

Her mother, in a Russian uniform, was a sight that rocked Marina to her core - evidence of her mother's own duplicity that she could not begin to understand.

Marina would come to suspect for ages that Irina had been instrumental in distracting Katya then. To this day, she did not understand how she found herself escaping the Man and his organization, the Russian secret service, how she found herself slipping into America, found herself on Francesca Wolff's doorstep, four months after their night in Spain.

--

Jenny Schecter had never thought of herself as a good person.

There had been a brief moment, where she tried desperately to be a good person, for Tim, because she knew he deserved it. For a while, she had fooled herself into believing that maybe she could have been that person for him, for no other reason than he believed it.

Time had come to prove her a miserable liar.

If anything had come from her broken heart, scarred and ripped over twice, it was acceptance. She was Jenny Schecter, who lived in a toolshed and worked at a shitty job, and had some inherent, not completely sane quirks.

What was nice about Los Angeles, was that here, people seemed to accept her quirks, some even really liked her for them.

Jenny's love affairs were a complicated, sordid mess of burning, rotting flesh. In the instances where she gave her heart, she usually found herself losing so much more; her home, her security, her soul.

Gene and Robin were simple people, not uncomplicated enigmas who had unspoken promises in their eyes, and demons in their souls.

It seemed she was finally coming out of the fog, and she cherished that - cherished the utter simplicity of her relationships with Robin and Gene, because it should have been complicated, to have a boyfriend and a girlfriend, and miraculously, it wasn't. It was like two friends coming over to play, and Jenny needed to be free of her quaking heart quite desperately.

Of course, she had rapidly come to realize that with Marina, there was no freedom.

Marina was a demon, who possessed and festered and haunted, and Jenny had decided some time ago, that in Marina's intoxicating breath was a bittersweet paradise she simply did not need. Marina brought utter ecstasy, extreme pleasure, and with that, extreme pain. With Marina there was nothing but extremes - for every second of joy, Jenny had experienced an equally devastating moment of sorrow.

And she had had enough pain in her life. Marina possessed her, made her do things, like an evil presence in her mind, tainting her.

Jenny knew she was not a good person, but she could not trust her shaky character with Marina. Marina made her lie and cheat and believe in realities that did not exist.

In a paradise where Marina loved her.

Perhaps the fantasy had become too intoxicating, perhaps that was why Marina had once again decided it was time to turn her life upside down.

She thought she had beat it. By ignoring Marina, Jenny surmised she would simply go away, leave her to the world she 'opened' up for her.

In truth, Jenny was quite proud of herself, for listening to Marina's confession of love, and then continuing with her evening with Robin and Gene as if it were not earth shattering, not capable of taking her entire mentality and breaking her.

In the past months, Jenny had decided she had never really loved Marina at all. Perhaps at one point, there were instances that could have been love - mornings in her toolshed, watching Marina as the beautiful European read her stories silently, ignoring Jenny and her questing fingers, words more important than Jenny's implicit promise of sex. Lazy afternoons in Marina's bedroom, on top of her, naked and sated, teasing Marina about her curiously flat breasts, while Marina lay against her pillows, tolerating her curious questions with an amused smile, letting Jenny play with them like new toys.

It was those moments, a thousand more in an absurdly short amount of time, that had Jenny fancying herself in love - even with Tim and her duplicity lurking in the background, even with the uncertain shadow that told her that Marina could not love someone like her.

But it was not love. Time had proved that.

And now, there was simply too little, too late. Marina's 'love' meant nothing, she told herself that, even as the anger simmered within her, and Jenny feared that whatever she felt for Marina, whatever affection that had lingered within her heart - it had all turned to hate too quickly.

It was her anger that forced her to Marina's café late one evening, two days after Marina's phone call to her answering machine, to find an enigmatic European who had opened her world and destroyed it with a smile and a kiss.

--

"What are you doing?"

Francesca Wolff was not opposed to change, she never was. She preferred things malleable, always believed that if things stayed the same too long, they became stagnant.

Marina however, took things and made them change too fast. Francesca's world had been thrown completely upside down, and she still wasn't quite sure if she was ready to resent her for it.

It had been only two days since she had come home to find the European girl sitting on her sofa, a gun in her hand, a cut along her forehead, and a glare on her face. Francesca was still trying to get used to her presence.

The sight of Marina packing clothes in a duffel bag, was another change she was just not ready for.

Marina didn't stop, simply turned her head to catch Francesca, standing in the doorway to her bedroom, eyes widened in anger, before turning back to her duffel bag.

"I have to leave," she said, words frank and flat. "I cannot stay in one place for too long. I left in a hurry and with no plan - I was sloppy."

In truth, Francesca wasn't sure whether to be ecstatic or offended.

She had actually been quite relieved when Marina hadn't taken her up on her offer to bring her to the States. Looking back, she decided that what she had said, what she had promised, had been because of the heat of the moment, her mind addled by fantastic sex.

Marina turning up unexpectedly had not been pleasing, not at first. Not until she had remembered the reason the woman had intoxicated her in the first place, and while Francesca was not a big fan of the large guns Marina had been a fan of packing, the knives were really quite sexy.

She was just getting used to this, to having Marina here, and now the woman was leaving?

Her brief experience had warmed her to the idea that Marina was not a person who took weakness lightly. She relied on being enigmatic, and for the moment, Francesca knew she had to do the same.

It was a game, and Francesca still wasn't sure whether Marina was aware she played it or had simply been conditioned that way.

"Where will you go?" she asked, slowly, tone casually unaffected.

"I don't know yet," Marina said frankly. "Wherever they can not find me."

"Do you think such a place really exists?" she asked, easing down on the bed, fingers tracing the long blade that lay on her sheets. Marina shrugged, pausing to wrap her hair into a loose pony tale before continuing her work.

"I will find it," she answered.

Francesca pursed her lips, watched as the younger woman took her gun, a gun Francesca hated, and broke it apart with a loud clip of metal.

"I know you aren't a realist, Marina, but I never took you for a dreamer," Francesca replied dryly. Marina's eyes flickered to hers, locking for a second before she returned to her packing. "What's wrong with staying here?" she asked.

"It's not safe," Marina said, matter-of-factly. "For you."

Francesca let that settle, crossing her legs and keeping her focus on Marina's movements. It had only been two days, not nearly enough for Francesca to think things through. If she considered this rationally, there was no real reason for Marina to stay.

"You don't have any money," Francesca said flippantly. "You don't have anything." Marina didn't answer, zipping the duffel bag shut and reaching for the blade, careful in tucking it up behind her shirt. "If you stay with me, I can take care of you."

"Do you not listen?" Marina snapped.

"Perfectly," Francesca said. "But I think you're being a little paranoid."

Marina glared. "Why would I stay?"

Really, why WOULD Marina stay?

Francesca took her time in studying the younger girl, an oddly put together face that was beautiful, exotic. Slender arms and perfect pout. There was so much about Marina she not yet discovered and it fascinated her.

"Because I haven't seen you smile," she said finally. Taken aback by her words, the foreign woman focused dark eyes completely on her. Used to the attention, Francesca only smiled back, careful and casual. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"Never," Marina answered roughly.

Good. Francesca grinned. "Neither have I. Have you ever loved anyone, Marina?"

It was a valid question, and one she knew Marina would answer 'no' to. Granted, Marina must have fancied herself in love at one point or another, but no one who had lived Marina's life, who held her heart as closed as she did could have truly loved someone.

They simply weren't allowed.

"Once I thought it was love," she whispered finally.

Francesca was gentle, as she reached forward, took Marina's palm in hers, thumb caressing the skin idly. "And?"

"I was young and foolish, and she destroyed my life," Marina answered frankly.

Francesca's smile widened slightly, before she stifled it, pulling gently on Marina's hand, bringing her between her knees, palms slipping to her waist, possessive now. "The first time never lasts," she acknowledged, running fingers sweetly over her hips, up and down. "First loves really just open up your world, until you can suddenly taste, like you've never tasted before. Your world comes alive." Her fingers were buried in her nape now, pulling down until Marina's lips hovered over hers, bringing her into a long, lazy kiss. "What was her name?" she whispered, ragged in her breath, smoothing hands over her woman.

She could feel the stiffness leaving Marina, as she massaged it out of her, branding the woman as hers with every touch.

"Victoria Ferrer," Marina said, an admission she did not want to give. But her eyes were clouded in lust, and there was something there, something Francesca could use. Marina did not love her yet, but she could. She would.

"Ferrer," she repeated, gaze lingering on Marina's mouth, before she reached up, let Marina's lips settle hotly against hers, tongue dipping in to taste the roof of her mouth, catching a swirl of wine. It was rich. "Then that's what you will be," she decided against her lips. "Marina Ferrer. A reminder. The death of one life, the beginning of another."

--

Marina Alicia Derevko Ferrer

The words were scrawled over forty times on the piece of paper, aimless letters that somehow lost their meaning the more she wrote them.

The first name had been chosen by her mother, the second, by a father who no longer acknowledged her. The third had been a name she could not escape, and the fourth, a brand, given to her by a woman who promised her nothing and everything with a devil's whisper and a kiss.

They were names she had taken, made her own, but none she had chosen for herself.

Marina was too old to have regrets. She was getting older every day, and now, in the darkened office of her back room, she wondered how she had gone so far, so long, how it had taken one woman no more than a child, to break her completely.

Marina was fairly introspective. She was good at taking her emotions, removing them from herself, analyzing a situation, and fairly often, she had the advantage of not caring what others thought of her ethics and her actions. It was a by-product of living in the covert world of spies, terrorists, and government conspiracy, made stronger by seven years with Francesca.

But West Hollywood had done its damage. She could see that now. Francesca, with her absences growing longer and longer each time she went away, could not keep her sharp, and in a café, surrounded by kind hearts, and friends who were so incredibly loyal to each other, she had forgotten the dull haze of betrayal.

It had been two days since her drunken confession to Jenny. In two days, she had discovered worlds fallen apart. Bette's infedility had banished her from the group. The hypocrisy of her actions had sent a slight thrill through Marina, until she looked at Tina's devastated face, and then she could not look at her at all. Shane's heart had been broken, and no one had seen the girl since. Alice and Dana tried, but they were lost in their own awkwardness, an observation Marina could not help but make. And to be honest, Marina was in no better shape herself, in love, in debt, and buried in lies.

Things were at a stagnant standstill, in West Hollywood, and not even Sydney Bristow could be counted on to help her cousin or her friend. She hadn't been heard from since the evening of Marina's phone call. She lived in a different world, a different timetable.

Alone, Marina could only stare at her name, study the lines, watch as her fingers traced over each letter. So deep was her concentration, she did not hear the intruder until a throat cleared.

Marina glanced up, and found Jenny Schecter in her hallway, looking like a pale ghost, blue eyes crystal in the moonlight.

"Why would you do that?" was her first question, voice low, uneven. "Are you trying to hurt me?"

Whether or not Jenny noticed the words were a direct repetition of a previous conversation, Marina did not know, but it certainly did not seem a good time to care.

She noticed her own skipping heartbeat, the tremor that she automatically fought to still, but her face was notoriously passive, her voice gentle and firm. "How did I hurt you, Jenny?"

Jenny stared at her, features frozen. "The phone call," she said, voice low. "What you said."

Marina glanced away, unable to face Jenny, not at that moment. "I didn't know it would anger you."

"Well it did," she snapped, voice cutting through the dead air. "You had no right to tell me those things. Not after what you did. What you did isn't love."

Jenny had always been notoriously judgmental. Marina no longer found herself willing to tolerate it.

"I see," she said, closing her journal, hiding her signature from her lover's eyes. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"You are always so fucking passive," she heard. Jenny hadn't moved from her spot, but her eyes were shining bright with tears. "Even when you were telling me you loved me you were so damned fucking passive. Why the hell weren't you that passive the first night in that bathroom, when you wrecked my fucking life?"

She wrecked Jenny's life.

She wrecked Jenny's life.

The smile came to her lips before she could stop it. Jenny saw it, and Marina knew she hated her more for it.

"Jenny," she began, straightening her expression, keeping her place in her chair. "From the first moment, all I ever gave you was choices. Yes, I followed you into that bathroom, and I remember distinctly, you kissing me back. But I did not follow you home. When I asked to see you again, and you turned me down, I accepted that. When I made love to you and you got engaged the next day, I took it well."

"You took it well?" she whispered, eyes flashing. "You fucking came to my engagement party!"

"And you had no intention of ever leaving him for me," Marina snapped. "I promised you nothing because you promised me nothing in return. What I was to you was exploration. To that effect, I think I cared more for you than you ever did for me."

"What you were to me was a disease," Jenny snapped.

The words were hateful, spiteful, and Marina felt the jolt in her heart. It continually amazed her, how Jenny could hurt her, how she carried that power.

She lost the wind in her sails, and she shut her mouth, glancing again at her journal with her scribbled names. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Don't do that," Jenny whispered, jolting Marina's gaze back to hers. "Don't do that to me. Don't just fucking accept things."

"And what do you want from me, Jenny?" Marina snapped, suddenly losing control, with trembling hands and an odd ragged breathing that came from the tightening in her chest. "If you don't want my acceptance and you don't want my love, what do you want?"

"I don't know!' Jenny nearly shouted and the tears spilled from her eyes in their forcefulness. "Maybe I don't think I can believe in either."

Marina could not answer. Instead, she stared at her book, saw a teacher, who ruined her life, a teacher who she loved and just as easily hated, for what she did to her.

Never had she imagined what it would have felt like, to be Victoria Ferrer, and she should have. She had taken her name, after all.

Her elbows settled on her desk, her fingers tangled together, chin resting against her hands.

"I just... Marina, for once in my life, I just want to be sure of something, and I can never be sure of you. I can't ever be safe with you. I don't trust myself around you. Everytime I look at you-"

"You become dismantled," Marina finished, a bitter smile on her lips. "Yes, I know that."

Jenny never looked so sad, as her eyes closed and tears slipped from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks like pearls.

"I don't want that," she whispered. "I don't want that, and as long as you're in my life, I'm going to be helpless against it. Marina, do you understand? Do you understand what you do to me?"

How did she hurt her?

A question, she had asked twice, to a child who she had taken in her arms, ravished and loved.

Her love was searing, burning, and it was then that Marina understood, finally, she understood, why her love was tainted.

Put simply, she did not know how to love, not the love Jenny needed.

Jenny stood, yearning, anger somehow melted away, dismantled. Marina took her in, swallowed her image in her heart, from her beautifully blue eyes, to her small, child-like hands.

"It's just as well," she said suddenly, allowing a small, bittersweet smile to flit across her face, gone just as quickly. "The first time never lasts." Jenny didn't move, simply stared at Marina, as if any moment, she would begin to make sense. "First love," Marina clarified, voice soft and delicate, even. "I was the first woman you loved, Jenny, and I know now, first loves do not last."

It was her way of setting her free, letting Jenny go before the selfish core of Marina would force her to rise from the chair, and claim what was hers.

But Jenny, like always, remained infuriatingly unpredictable. The words seemed to quiet her, still her body, calm her.

"Did you love me, Marina?" she whispered into the darkness.

The question, haunting and arid, caught Marina's heart, squeezed it until she had to open her mouth, gasp for breath. Beautiful Jenny, with her sea-blue eyes, deep enough to drown in.

"I still love you, Jenny," she said, as calmly, as carefully as she could.

Jenny's eyes closed, her head bowed, suddenly broken at Marina's revelation.

"Jenny," Marina whispered, pushing clumsily away from the chair, torn from her frozen stance when she saw the tears fall. "Don't cry for me, Jenny."

"One of us should," she whispered in return. "One of us should be allowed to feel for what's happening."

"Is that what you think?" Marina answered, hands against her desk, digging until her fingers ached. "That I do not feel?"

She wanted desperately to cry, she wanted to show Jenny her tears, to remove her heart and give it to Jenny, in it's broken entirety. Her eyes stung, but not one tear fell.

Her little lover looked lost, as her eyes, streaked with pain, locked with hers, with a painful smile that spoke of resignation, sorrow – the end of things.

Marina could not stand it.

"Jenny," she whispered. "Jenny-"

In two steps, she could reach her, wrap her arms around her and cradle Jenny, protect her from the chaos that surrounded them both, circumstances in which they never should have loved each other, never should have felt anything more than the animal lust that came so readily. She could smooth fingers through Jenny's long, uncontrollable hair, run them across her bangs, her skin soft underneath her fingertips. She could drown in Jenny's sobs, kiss them away with the promise that she would make it better this time. She would love her and not fail her the way she had failed them both with her lack of courage.

Jenny waited, and Marina swallowed, staring at her little lover, willing herself to move.

She felt the jerk of her body, the shift in position, when her phone rang, breaking the stillness.

Jenny looked embarrassed, wiping at her tears, turning slightly as Marina tried desperately to ignore it.

This love depended on ignoring that phone call.

But it was three in the morning, and the only person who ever called her this late with emergencies was...

As she reached for the phone, she knew Jenny's look, the betrayed gaze that flitted over her face. She couldn't look at her then.

"Sydney," she whispered, urgent and dismissive, saw a flinch in Jenny's face at the name.

"Marina, I need to know-"

"Sydney, right now is not a good-"

"I have a sister."

Sydney's revelation stopped Marina cold, mouth dropping open, form freezing. "What?"

"My mother had an affair when she was married to my father," Sydney clipped. "With Arvin Sloane."

"Arvin Sloane?" Marina repeated. "Who is Arvin Sloane?"

"It resulted in a daughter – did you know, Marina?"

The words were ones of desperation, accusation. Marina found herself suddenly grasping her desk for support. "Sydney-"

"Did you KNOW?!"

A daughter? A sister?

Marina's throat went dry, suddenly reduced to a stammer. "Sydney, no!'

"Marina-"

"Sydney, I didn't know! I didn't know!"

"Oh, God... " Sydney's words were rushed, harried, as someone spoke in the background, muffled by what Marina presumed was Sydney's palm over the receiver. "I have to go – swear to me you didn't know, Marina."

"Sydney," she whispered, "I swear it. I love you."

Sydney's line disconnected, Marina was left with nothing.

Her heart beating wildly in her cage, she found herself flooded with memories, secrets, Irina Derevko's irrevocable sadness that Marina could never place, a mother without a child.

But she had never known...

What secrets had they kept from her?

Her hand was trembling as she lowered the phone, found her heart in her throat as she glanced toward the doorway when the first tear fell.

And found the hallway empty.

Jenny was gone.

--

With Marina came extreme joy and extreme sadness.

With Marina came lies.

Given time, Jenny was sure, she could convince herself she never loved her at all.

She stood at her desk, in her toolshed, eyeing the classified apartment listings, moisture pooling in her orbs until they became undistinguishable black blots on paper.

She wondered how many times Marina could break her heart until it just became numb.

Her toolshed was absurdly easy to reach. It wasn't a real home – people invited themselves, and she was sure, when the door opened with a creak, that it was Robin or Gene, coming to the shed to check up on their girl.

But there was no sound, and when she looked up, she found a beautiful, dark woman standing in the doorway, on her face an unreadable expression, unexpected moisture in her eyes.

Of course.

Jenny felt nothing but bitter resignation, before she broke her focus, back down to the listings.

There was nothing really to say, but she knew Marina would try, was searching, before she managed a soft, uncertain, "Jenny-"

"Do you love her?" she interrupted, eyes on her newspaper.

She felt Marina, her soft burn of a stare, intoxicating eyes that, if Jenny looked into, would cast their spell, remove her inhibition, make her want to believe again.

"Jenny-"

"Do you love her," she asked again, angrier now, firmer.

Marina did not lie – she simply withheld certain truths, and Jenny thought she was getting better now, at asking the right questions.

She waited, almost certain of her answer. "Yes," she heard, and foolishly, her heart still dropped in her chest, crushed. "But, Jenny, with Sydney, it is different-"

"Different." Her tone was low, almost mellow. "Different from whom? Francesca maybe?" She finally looked, saw Marina with her dark eyes, mouth pulled into a hurt pout. "You forget that I've heard this before, Marina."

"Jenny," Marina said, trying again, eyes glistening now. "You must understand, you must listen when I tell you-"

"No." She forced a smile, crossing her arms, ignoring her tears as they slid down her cheeks. She was right, her heart already felt numb. "No, Marina."

"I'm not in love with Sydney," Marina whispered, caught for a beat, voice strangely choked. "I'm in love with you."

"I don't see how that's different," Jenny whispered back. "I'm sorry, I can't believe you. I don't think you know how to love, Marina, and frankly, neither do I. I don't think we would do each other much good. We would simply continue to break each other's hearts, back and forth, until we hated each other. I think I hate you now."

She knew Marina – for as much as she professed to not know who the hell the woman was, she knew this much. She knew Marina would stop, she knew Marina would retreat behind those dark, enigmatic eyes. She knew Marina would tilt her mouth in a smile, nodding, passive, letting Jenny go.

"It's just as well," Jenny heard herself saying, voice even and cold. "The first time never lasts."

Marina stood in her doorway, hand closed around her doorknob, staring at her as if she were unable to look away.

It was the tears in Marina's eyes that consumed Jenny.

"I'll be fine," Jenny added. "You opened up my world, Marina. I have so many other choices."

It was cruel, to throw Marina's foolish words back at her, and Jenny found it ironic, for she had always thought herself the fool.

And they did their damage. She saw the tear trickle from Marina's dark eyes, saw it glisten on her cheek.

In Marina's pain, she had her satisfaction.

She turned back, stared at her listings, until she heard the wooden door close on it's hinges. Marina would not slam the door – it was not in her nature.

Only then, did Jenny's knees collapse, did her heart truly break, as she destroyed her newspaper listings with tears, spilling with sorrow.

--

"What are you thinking?" Francesca asked, fingers tangled in Marina's dark tresses, eyes locked on the younger girl, as Marina rested her head against her, cheek against her breasts.

"I am thinking of lies," she heard, a hoarse reply. "I am thinking of a world seeped in lies."

Francesca considered that, fingers smoothing gently through Marina's scalp. "Do you enjoy lies?" she asked, eyes locked on the ceiling.

"I hate them," Marina answered. "There is nothing you can trust in lies."

"Who lied to you?" Francesca probed.

"Everyone," Marina whispered. "I know nothing but lies."

Francesca paused, before she shifted Marina, until the girl was looking down at her, face cradled between her palms. "Then I will never lie to you," Francesca said, matter-of-factly. "If you promise to do the same."

Marina was unsure, and Francesca supposed she would be foolish not to be. "I don't love you," Marina said uncertainly.

"Of course you don't," Francesca sniffed, unoffended. "And I don't love you. People like you and I don't know how to love, and I find it a perfect waste of a good heart." A small smile flickered on Marina's face. "If we loved each other right now, we wouldn't do each other much good. We'd just go breaking each other's hearts until we hated each other. Which undoubtedly will happen," Francesca added. "Because I plan on making you fall madly in love with me."

"And if I do?" Marina asked, now amused.

"Then you'll hate me, eventually, but you'll thank me. Because I'll have taught you how to love – even if I'm not quite sure how that works myself."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you'll hate me anyway. Because I don't ever plan on letting you go."

--

Marina Alicia Derevko Ferrer.

Locked in her past, her present, and her future, Marina sat alone in her office with her names.

The tears fell easily now, with no one else to see them.

She should have thanked Francesca – her mother – her aunt.

She had been taught well how to love. Had passed on that brand of love to Jenny.

And she hated them for it. Just as Jenny hated her.

It was a perfect circle.

Her family would have been proud.

--

FIN