Authors note: The following takes place before Marc's meeting with Theodora. It is rather darker than my normal writing and has both bad language and some unsavory topics, though I tried to handle it somewhat lightly. If you are bothered by either of these, please do not continue. Rated M for some language and suggested abuse.

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Somewhere in Ireland, around 1 am


“So… You’re leaving again.”

Marc glanced up at Clara, the glow from the cigarette clenched between his teeth casting deep shadows across his face, accenting the already harsh lines. His pale green eyes regarded her coldly for a moment before he turned back to his packing, silent.
“I’m right aren’t I? You are leaving me… Us… again aren’t you?” Claras voice quavered with anger and betrayal. “It’s just like last time. Some stupid fucking bird shows up at the window and you’re gone the next day!” Her voice begin to raise in volume, each word more hysterical than the last. His refusal to answer her seemed to fuel the anger as her tone got more belligerent. “How long, Marc? How long are you going to be gone this time? Huh? A month? A year? TEN YEARS?”

She tried to block him from the dresser, her dark eyes glowing fiercely in the dim light and Marc stopped for a second to meet those eyes, his own narrowing a fraction. She seemed to realize how far she had stepped over the line as she inched back from him quickly and he pushed past her to retrieve some shirts from the drawers. Clara knew that anger wasn’t going to work on him, so she switched to pleading, tears easily welling up in her eyes. They could have been crocodile tears... or perhaps they were genuine, Marc simply didn't care either way.

“Ramonas birthday is in a couple of weeks, Marc… Are you really going to miss it? You said you came back for her. If that’s true, stay for her… Please… I’m begging you, stay for our little girl…” Her desperate and imploring tone seemed to have some affect on him as he stopped packing, as though he were truly considering this as an option. A thick shroud of silence weighed heavily over them for a moment, so heavy it left the cold, barren room feeling suffocating and then, he flicked his cigarette out the window and zipped up his bag.

“You son of a BITCH!” Clara lost all pretense of either anger or desperation, and went straight over the edge “How DARE you do this to us again? You abandon your baby for a whole year and come back like you just took a long walk… and I accepted you back! I didn’t have to, but I did!” She babbled, mostly to herself, as she begin to pace the room.  He stopped to watch her, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one as he waited for her to finish. “Everyone else told me I should have dumped your lying ass but I didn’t, because I thought I loved you. I thought you loved ME!”

She turned and advanced on him, finger digging into his chest. “Well. Not. Again. Marc Donnelly… I promise you that if you return after this, I won’t be here. Ramona won’t be here. If you walk out that door, you will never see me or her again.” As if on cue, Ramona awoke in the adjacent room and started to bawl, her plaintive cries echoing through the house.

This threat seemed to actually get through to him. Unfortunately for her, it only served to make him angry. His hand wrapped around the hand whose finger was lodged in his chest and he squeezed, pulling it away forcefully. “M..Marc, that hurts…” Clara whimpered, suddenly aware of what she had done. He didn’t release his grip.

Instead, he grabbed her jaw firmly with the other hand and forced her to look him in the eyes, which had the intensity of a snake about to capture a foolish mouse. “I will promise you Clara…” He whispered softly, his dulcet tones belying the danger that boiled underneath “… If you leave this house… I will find you and if you… dare… to try to keep my child from me, I will kill you…and anyone else who helps you. Do you understand?” She nodded as vigorously as she could against his grip, her black eyes wide in terror.

“I promise.” He added, ominously, before leaning down and pressing a hard kiss against her lips. He then pushed her away, releasing his grip so that she fell back onto the bed where she immediately curled into a ball. Retrieving the dark jacket hanging from the bedpost, he refused to look at her as he tugged it on. “Ramonas crying. You should probably tend to her.”  This was the last thing he said before he walked out of the room, the deep shadows enveloping him. A mere moment later there was a sharp pop of air, all but drowned out by the babies wail.