fh_alumni | A Hotel Room, New York, Wednesday Afternoon

There were exactly 216 chrysanthemums on the bedspread. 215, if she didn't count the mutant one in one corner.

Angela knew this because the time she spent waiting for Marty to get back was the longest of her life, and, after pacing, counting was the only thing she could find to do.

She could not believe she had let him go on his own. Even after he called, she was still worried. It wasn't as though he had said much on the phone.

Marty was strangely wired after the debriefing. He gave the door a few quiet raps before letting himself in. "Hey, you."

Angela flew into his arms, kissing his face. "Oh, thank god," she murmured against his shoulder. "Thank god. Are you okay? How did everything go?"

"Grocer is in custody as are a bunch of his cronies," Marty said holding on to her tightly. "It's all over."

Holding tightly was good. It wasn't as if she would let him go, anyhow. "Good. And you?" she asked, an edge in your voice. "Are you out, for real?"

"What are you talking about?" Marty said pulling back a little to look at her. "Of course I'm out. I've been out since right after we started dating."

"But you still talk to Marcella all the time. They found you through her," Angela pointed out. "I can't ... I don't know how we can do this."

"Do what?" Marty said sounding a little irritated. "Look, they found me because of my Mom being in that hospital. Marcella didn't know what was going on. It's not going to happen again, all right? Part of the deal with the Feds is that they're going to put my Mom in protective custody and it's not like any of these guys have a time machine."

"Oh, and they could never, ever get one?" Angela snapped, abruptly letting go of him. "I heard what the agents said, Marty. They were talking about my age and they barely blinked about the time travel thing. And if they can find your mom and Marcella, they can find you, right?"

"What if there are worse guys out there than Grocer?" She hated thinking about this stuff.

"Look," Marty said gently. "My mom is going to be in protective custody. No one else is going to be able to get to her or Marcella now. We can go home and just forget this ever happened."

"Are you a broken record?" Angela asked. "Protective custody, protective custody. That's nice for your crazy mom, but our kid is not in protective custody." She shoved her hair back. "Seriously, I need you to walk away from everything. Marcella, the blood money you have left, all of it."

"I walked away our junior year," Marty said evenly. "And do realize what you're talking about? Without that money there's no apartment, no college fund for the kid nothing. And Marcella isn't some goon with a gun. She's my friend."

"She's your fucking secretary," Angela pointed out, being mean now. "She calls you sir. And how do you know Grocer didn't pay her off to get you here?" Not that she actually thought that was likely. "I don't care about any of that. How much did they pay you, anyhow? How much to kill somebody?" Her voice was breaking.

"Is that really important now?" Marty shot back. "I don't do that any more!"

She sat down on the bed, crossing her arms, looking almost prim. "Do you know how you sound? 'I don't do it anymore.' Wow. You get a pony for not killing anybody in almost three years." her eyes were direct and sharp. "I need to know. If we're building a life together ... How much do you have left? "

"Enough to keep us comfortable," Marty replied glaring at her. "Tuition, the apartment, down the road a house and something for the kid to have for college."

Angela glared. "Tell me two numbers. The amount in your bank account, the number of people you killed. And my tuition is covered, you know that. And I work! So don't feel like you need to keep the blood money for me."

Marty turned his back on her. "Five hundred thousand," he replied angrily. "And I didn't keep count."

"Too many people to keep count," she repeated, horrified, and collapsed backwards on the bed to stare at the ceiling. "I picked a fantastic father for my child, really, that's just great."

"I didn't say that," Marty snapped. "I didn't keep count. That's something nut jobs did. It's not what I do anymore. It's. Not. Me."

Angela tilted her head to the side so she could see him. "I don't get it," she said, sounding more curious than angry. "How could you not want to keep track? And I know it's not you. Mostly. Anymore."

"It's not me at all," Marty said angrily. "I didn't keep count because somehow I thought it made me more of a monster."

He turned around to face Angela. "Which from the way you're talking you think I am anyway."

"Um." Angela said, stalling. "I've had ... a lot of time to think the last few days? I don't think you're a monster? But ... I don't know. I was kind of in denial about what you had done. It feels closer now."

"So what do you want me to do?" Marty asked leaning against the wall. "I don't know what you expect me to do about my past. I can't go back and erase it. I've done my best to avoid it. It's not like I've sought this situation out, I was just thinking about my mom and what I might have passed on. I wasn't trying to get back into anything."

"I know," Angela admitted quietly, eyes on the ceiling and hand drifting across her stomach, following the slow tide of the baby's kicks. "I want there to be nothing in our lives to remind us, I guess. No Marcella, no guns, no money."

Marty's eyes wandered the room, avoiding any look of Angela. He was quiet for a good long time.

"No more guns. No more money," he said quietly. "I have no idea what to do but I can give those up for this. But... Marcella is the closest thing I have to family."

Angela sniffled. She knew that, too. "Is there a way we can make sure she doesn't help people find us, even accidentally?"

Marty looked down at his feet. "She feels horrible about this, Angela. It's not her fault, she just was concerned about everyone including our kid. I didn't think to verify what the clinic said either."

"But she's older," Angela said, not logically, and then went quiet for a moment. "All right. Marcella can stay." Her brain buzzed with limits, but it didn't seem the time to impose them. She was tired.

Marty nodded in silent agreement. The walk to the bed and lying down next to Angela seemed to take forever. He reached out to stroke her hair. "I'm sorry."

"That doesn't change things," she said, settling in.

Then: "I love you."

"Just as long as it doesn't change that," Marty replied softly. "When we get back I'll donate the money somewhere. We'll have to find somewhere else to live and... I don't know what else. We'll work it out, okay?"

"My school has housing for adult students," Angela volunteered. "I'll call and see if we can get in. Nothing fancy, but ..." She sighed. "Like you said. We'll make it work."

Marty nodded and slipped his arm around her as he gently kissed her on the head. There was a lot more that needed to be discussed, but that could wait until tomorrow.

[OOC: Preplayed with