Her
by Roaming Tigress

"Gabrielle left the door unlocked."

Carlos froze. He had his fears; one of them being people preying upon him when he was vulnerable as he was feeling now. Prison had not been kind to him -- or for that matter, his confidence. Around any corner there could be someone out there to get you, he reminded himself. Always sleep with one eye open. He may be out of prison, but the scars of what happened there during his stay remained.

Five days had past since he had learned that it was Andrew Van DeKamp who was responsible for the hit in run that had put his mother into a coma. The source of this information was ironically delivered to him from the boy who he had beaten up -- Justin. It seemed that he had a bone to pick with Andrew; he had once thought he loved him, but as it turned out, he was only being used in order to satisfy his selfish urge to ruin the life of his mother.

Carlos had thoughts of killing the boy -- but would it be worth it, to risk being sent back to the place in which he nearly died? He had a family now to cherish and to protect, how could they cope if he wasn't free? Thoughts of Gabrielle's stepfather crept into his mind. How could he protect her from him should he find out about her whereabouts, if he was behind bars? Those five days were hell for Carlos, and it was only made worse for him when it was discovered that it was the delinquent's mother who hid the evidence of the crime had had committed.

"I hear you want to take legal action against Andrew and I."

If there was anyone Carlos feared on Wisteria Lane, it was Bree Van DeKamp. He had always found her too complicated, too tightly wound. There have been times that he would swear she wasn't human, just something that was released from a time capsle dating 1950.

"Court proceedings will start Wednesday . . .It's the earliest date." Even as he laid in bed with the covers practically covering over his head, Carlos felt her intense blue eyes on him.

Not if Bree had anything to do with it. She stood in the doorframe of the bedroom, still as a statue with her arms crossed over her chest. Every inch of her was regal, poised, controlled, hiding the anger was boiling up to the surface.With her being all about image, Hell would freeze over if this matter was taken to court. It was bad enough dealing with Rex's name being leaked out from Maisy Gibbons' little black book of clients, but the thought of the entire neighbourhood knowing about her son's crime and her covering it up was beyond abomination. Even though he was doing the right thing, Carlos, to her, was the enemy that needed to be squashed.

She replied cooly and smiled that smile that always manages to deliver a chill down his spine. "No."

"The boy needs to be punished," Carlos replied, turning over to face her once he found the courage to be able to look her in those eyes. "You can't keep sending him to that camp and expecting that he'll become an upstanding citizen overnight. He needs discipline, and he'll get that when he was in prison. I still have a ways to go, but in all, it has made me become a better person when I came out of that place. It gave me a new outlook on life."

Fire met fire, and Bree was set ablaze. She could care less to hear more from him. How dare that man challenge her, to tell her what to do with her son, to tell her what would be good for him! Thoughts of her son being put through what Carlos had in in his stay raced through her mind. She pictured him beaten and broken in his cell, and worse -- dead, in a morge, a fate in which the ex successful stock broker nearly faced. No, he can't go in there, she thought. Never.

Slowly and smoothly, she made her way towards the bed. So intent Bree was on him that she overlooked the imperfections that were in front of her; namely, the mess of linens. "Don't you dare tell me what is best for my family!"

"Have you ever throught of the pain you caused another family?" Carlos asked, shifting himself back a little ways as she came nearer. "I loved Mama more than anything . . . The one thing I wanted to do for her would be to find who ran over her and left her in the street. Now that I know . . . I want to seek justice."

Just as he went to get up off the bed to get himself out of the confrontation, Bree grabbed his arm and pulled him in so close that their noses were nearly touching each other.

"Just to remind you, I am an appointmented member of the NRA. So unless you want to move in with your mother, you may just want to lay off on the passive aggressive threats you are making." Her voice was filled with pure venom and Carlos cringed as the words hit him like a train.

Yes, he would rather be be with her, hiding behind her for protection like he did when his father used to beat him. Hell, at this point, Carlos would've been hiding behind his tiny wife -- and if he could've fitted under it, the bed. He grimaced as the grip on his arm tightened, but even that wasn't as painful as the words that were spoken.

"Am I making myself clear?" The fear in his eyes gave her the answer.

Carlos felt himself falling into hopelessness -- but in honour of his mother, he pulled out in the moment he was going to admit defeat. "Maybe you were never as close to your mother as I was. Maybe you never spent endless nights wondering who was the one who left her the road to die."

"Actually . . . " Bree's eyes softened, as did her grip on his arm as she was reminded of her own mother's demise. "Nothing could be further from the truth, Carlos. I've been in your position before. I lost my mother to a hit and run, and . . . We never knew who did it. It all happend around Christmas, and it happend all too fast. One moment she was singing carols with us, then the next I heard the sound of the tires screeching . . ."

"Say no more of it . . . " Carlos said quietly, relaxing somewhat but not letting down his guard, just in case Bree was luring him into some sort of emotion trap that would get him onto her side.

"You've been through a lot lately, and I mean it when I say it would be better to have Andrew in prison. There are people in there that can help him . . . When Gabrielle had her miscarriage, I just turned into a complete wreck. Ripped my hands open after taking it out on a matress, and I don't want you to tell Gabby about this because she'd freak, but . . . I had thoughts of suicide. Before I even attempted anything drastic like that though,. this Catholic group signed me up for help and had me paroled. He may feel resentment, but . . . In the long term, it'd be for the best. For him, and for you."

Carlos spoke of the truth but Bree didn't want to hear it. She spaced out for a moment, blankly staring into space. If Andrew hated her already, how much more would he hate her when he gets thrown in jail? She had to accept what was going to happen would happen even if Carlos didn't bring it up. Already bitten once and twice shy, she knew Justin would do it if she didn't step up. If only there was another way, she thought.

Ah, but perhaps there is another way.

If there is one thing that Bree's marriage of eighteen years taught her, it was that men could be easily manipulated. Carlos may be a very different man than Rex, but still a mere man nonetheless, and the same basic rules applied. The same weapon was needed, and that was the power of seduction. It the same tool which Gabrielle had used against him time and time again for twelve years, and without fail. It seemed to go against Bree's image of perfection, presentation and morale to have sexual relations with a friend's husband -- especially to force them upon him -- but desperate situations call for desperate measures and sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind to the ones you love.

The only word that came out of Carlos' mouth was her name as she rubbed his back. His tense muscles were relaxing, the fear in his eyes, fading. It had been a good while since he had a good back rub.

Bree paused midway through the massage. "Have I been too harsh on you?"

"No . . . No you haven't," Carlos replied as he turned over onto his back. "I know the measures mothers take to protect their children . . . One time, Mama came and told me that my father ran off with a waitress and abandoned us, but I knew better. She killed him, for me."

As he spoke, Bree slid over his torso. The lack of personal space had brought back Carlos' anxiety, and his eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out. Being in the same room as Bree was bad enough, but being two inches away from her face was another.

"So . . . I've been doing some thinking . . . A lot of thinking. It's not easy for me to say this, but . . . " He paused to nervously itch at the base of his ear. "I won't lay charges against you for hiding the evidence of the crime. The actions you took were wrong, but not the intent. My mother would've done the same if she was in your position."

"My son will not be going to prison," Bree snarled, grabbing the collar of his pajamas. "You can take your feel-good words elsewhere, because as of now, I will be turning deaf ears to them."

"Bree, I -- "

She tightened her grip. "Shut it. Shut it right now."

He did. "If you go within fifteen meters of my son, don't think I won't alert your probation officer!" Bree let him go, but not without smoothing out the creases she had made in the clothing. "After all, you know the measures mothers take to protect their children."