AN: Hey folks, this is my first (and probably last) foray into this fandom. I'm not sure anyone still reads L-word fic anymore, but I'd been thinking of writing this for longer than I would care to admit, so here we are.

This is set right at the beginning of Season 4 when Shane has jilted Carmen and goes to speak to her at her house. I've written it as if she didn't leave when Carmen's cousins told her to and what unfolds thereafter.

Thoughts very much welcome.

Enjoy.

…

Carmen had once told her that drowning felt serene in a way, that once the overall panic had subsided and you'd inhaled enough water, you just felt like you were floating, a crazy trippy sensation of walls of colour, soundlessly drifting by (there's probably some scientific reason for it, brain receptors, that sort of shit). Until her cousin, Diego, had hauled her out of the pool. (That's the bit they don't tell you about, fire ripping though your chest and puking your guts up once you're out of the water).

But even now, as Shane allows herself to float to the bottom of the ocean, leaden, she doesn't feel a thing, not peace, not tranquillity, not a goddamn singular emotion.

And maybe, she considers, that's been the problem all along.

…

Her blood feels as though it's ablaze, so when she gets into Cherie's car, she can barely keep her foot still on the gas pedal. Her knee is bouncing up and down like crazy and suddenly, Gabe's words hiss through her skull:

I'm sorry, it's just who I am, I know you know what I'm talking about.

And in one simple sentence, he'd managed to seal both their fates effortlessly.

She'd stood there for a while after he'd left, a little dazed, the world continuing to drift around her, as if she'd become invisible somehow, part spectre.

She grabs her own arm, pinches flesh, curls her fingers around her wrist, is gratified by the firmness of bone. And then she asks the bartender for a bottle cap and slices a jagged line across her palm and is almost soothed by the sight of the viscous liquid beginning to pool.

Almost.

And that's the problem.

…

The cab ride to the airport is restless. Her cell is periodically buzzing, until her voicemail inbox tells her in squat, black letters, that it's full. 'Fucking piece of shit,' she mumbles under her breath, before rolling the window down and tossing the phone into the shadows.

The driver regards her through the rear view mirror, 'everything ok back there Miss?' heavy Pakistani accent wrapped around each vowel.

'Everything's cool man, just needed some air,' she says, hunkering down into her seat, wishing she could just dissipate into nothing.

She'd downed a few shots of liquor whilst waiting for her ride, willing a fogginess to descend on her brain, a cotton wool barrier between her and reality. But it hasn't worked, not by a long chalk and instead, her mind is drifting to the voicemail messages, hanging helplessly in space and time. She knows at least a handful of them must be from Carmen.

The driver is asking her if she minds him changing the radio station, his broken English strangely soothing, two foreigners trapped in the same cab, no real place to call home. She tells him to go ahead and just as quickly zones out the chart music that begins bleeding out of the tinny stereo system.

She thinks about Alice, willing her not to leave.

'Not like this Shane, c'mon,' offering a wide eyed, sort of incredulity that she was even considering it. 'Having cold feet is normal I'm sure, especially for someone like you.' And she'd laughed, trying to lighten the mood, trying to wedge the situation into a bubble of normality, like it was just some run of the mill thing.

'This isn't cold feet Al….'

But Alice hadn't listened. 'Just take a time out, we can delay the ceremony, I'm sure,' and she pulls her cell out of her purse, flipping through the names until she'd landed on Helena's, refusing to make eye contact with Shane, as if she was afraid it would validate what her friend was telling her. 'Let me see what I can sort out…'

'Al….'

No reply.

'Al.'

More silence.

'Alice!' she finally snaps, patience shattering like glass. She snatches the phone from the blonde. 'You're a good friend,' she says, looking her dead in the eye, with a flame of intensity that Alice cannot ever recollect having seen before, 'but you can't fix this…nobody can…'

'You can,' the blonde says and it's so soft and sincere that Shane suddenly wants to scream. Wants to empty her lungs of everything, drain her blood dry, so there's not a singular trace of Gabriel McCutcheon coursing through her body. But his DNA is weaved through the very fabric of her, impossible to sever, unlike an artery or two.

She shakes her head to rid herself of the thought. 'Listen,' she says, handing Alice her cell back, 'if you want to help, can you do me a favor?'

'Sure, of course,' Alice nods, seeing a flicker of hope where she shouldn't.

'Can you pass Carmen a message from me?'

'Shane…' Alice says, face crumpling, so it's all soft, sad lines around her eyes and mouth.

'Please Al, you're pretty much all I've got left, I need to do this.' And she'd waited for what had seemed like an unholy amount of time, before Alice had agreed.

'Tell her I'm sorry,' she pauses…fear scissoring its way through her chest, as the gravity of what she is doing begins to seep through her psyche, of a life without Carmen. She shifts on the spot, pain, raw and hot rupturing through the bloody, battered mess of her heart. 'Tell her I don't expect her to ever forgive me, this is just who I am.'

Because after all, you can't escape your fate and you sure as hell can't deny your blood. And finally, stood in the swanky hotel lobby, she's realised that.

…

She doesn't know how long she's been at Cherie's, time has ceased to exist, every hour blurs into the next. She drinks bourbon to take the edge off her headache, coke to take the edge off the booze and pills for good luck (Mazel Tov).

But every time she closes her eyes all she can see is Carmen, when she's still for long enough, all she can hear is Gabe, his words going off like tiny hand grenades. And still inebriation eludes her.

She's sprawled out on a one of Cherie's sun loungers one afternoon, the white noise of a party as her soundtrack, some Latina girl stroking her hair, practically purring by her side. 'I want you,' she'd whispered, her words laced with a desire that Shane immediately knows she won't be able to reciprocate. She scrambles up, fingers pressed into her temples.

And memories float around her skull like confetti, of the Quinceañera that Carmen had insisted on dragging her to, the ease of her laughter that evening, as they'd sat in the garden, only a smattering of guests remaining. The breeze was still warm enough to be pleasant. And they'd snuck kisses like giddy school children when they thought nobody was watching.

That was the first night Shane had an inkling that Mercedes knew something. And it made her flesh itch in a way that she didn't care to dwell on, the idea of Carmen's family knowing, effectively cementing this, giving it roots.

'Hey, let's go inside,' the girl drawls. Her pupils are dilated and her breath smells like liquor and cinnamon.

And even then Shane knows what she's got to do, even before Cherie sticks the knife in. So when she's snatching up the keys to Jaffe's car, the destination is already etched in her mind like a fresh wound. She needs to see Carmen.

…

She pulls up outside the house, the coke and pills making it seem as though everything has morphed out of real time somehow, like someone has pressed the fast forward button and it's jammed.

She barely feels her legs moving, but they are, hurrying to redemption she hopes, as she pushes the gate to Carmen's house open. But her progress is short lived, before she's sprawled out on the grass, the Los Angeles sun, a spotlight on her shame. Carmen's meathead cousins almost revelling in her pain, before they shove her out.

And their warning should be enough as she climbs back into her car and presses her foot to the gas, but she needs to explain, make her understand, to prove to herself that at least this one strand of her is not woven directly from Gabriel McCutcheon.

So she rides around the block, hoping to eventually spot Carmen leaving the house, circuits of a neighbourhood that's almost become as familiar as her own. And she's not sure how long she's doing it for, only that her stomach begins to pang with a fierce hunger and the watery sun is beginning to shimmer and dissolve into the horizon.

Finally, just as her resolve is beginning to waiver, she spots her walking down the street, bag slung over her shoulder, sunglasses on, although, strictly speaking, Shane can't see a need for them this late into the day.

She hurriedly parks up, smoothes out her clothes and breaks into a gentle jog after her. She doesn't approach her immediately, wanting her to be far enough away from the house so that her cousins can't intervene, or that she can't run back without listening to Shane. So she slows down to more of a brisk walk and tails her for a few more blocks, until she stops outside a clothes store.

Before she has the chance to say anything, Carmen has already spun around, catching Shane's reflection in the store window.

'Hey,' Shane says, wondering if that is the most ineffectual word she could have used in this situation.

Carmen removes her sunglasses, as if she needs to view her without filter, in order to believe it's real. And breath twists in Shane's throat at the sight of her.

Carmen's eyes are swollen and puffy, dark circles framing them from lack of sleep, almost as if bruises are blooming. And it's then that it hits Shane, the reason she was wearing sunglasses and it makes her stomach crumple in on itself and she stumbles back a little, as if she's been wounded.

'My cousins told me you had gone.' Carmen says, cold and hard and in a voice that Shane can barely recognise.

'I couldn't,' she manages to say, trying to regulate her breathing, 'I needed to see you.'

'Fuck you.' Carmen spits, 'I am done with worrying about what Shane needs.'

It's to be expected of course, this reaction, but Shane hadn't really thought far enough ahead to figure out how she would deal with it. And so now she feels as if she's been washed out to sea, nowhere to moor, splashing ineffectually, waves rising and crashing around her with increasing force.

'Can we talk?' she offers, 'only for a few minutes, I know I don't deserve it, but I think you do.'

And Carmen laughs sardonically and for a second Shane is worried that even this request will be denied and she'll be left flailing, awaiting the final riptide, but then Carmen nods wearily and they walk to a tiny bar further down the street.

…

They sit across from each other at a small round table and order two beers. Shane picks at the greasy peanuts in the bowl, eating but not tasting.

'You've got five minutes,' Carmen says looking down at her watch, 'and then,' she continues, leaning across the table, looking Shane dead in the eye, 'you better get the fuck out of this bar, out of this fucking neighbourhood and out of my fucking life.'

Shane is still for a moment, allowing the words to penetrate her fully, suddenly aware of the greasy film in her mouth and she isn't quite sure what to say, so she begins with something she knows is the absolute truth.

'You know, Alice, Bette, Tina, Jenny...they're all gonna miss you.'

Carmen shakes her head, 'that's a fucking low blow Shane and you know it.'

'Alright, but it doesn't make it any less true.'

'Well maybe you should have thought about your friends before you fucked me over, before you revealed yourself to be the cowardly piece of shit that you are.'

She looks away, as if she cannot bear to lay eyes on Shane for a second longer and Shane isn't sure exactly what she is asking of her, to take her back? To forgive her? Both of those things?

'I know you hate me and you have every right to, but I didn't mean to hurt you, the problem is me. Gabe and I...we're not good people, we cause pain...'

'Gabe?' She says, brow furrowed in confusion.

And Shane can feel her thought process becoming muddier by the second, words whirring through her mind and blurring into one smudge.

'I dunno...I guess I'm just trying to make you understand that the issue is mine, not yours.'

'Fuck's sake, you came out here, hung around all day, to tell me some, it's me not you bullshit? Why am I wasting my fucking time?' and she grabs her bag as if she's about to leave.

'Wait, please' Shane says, desperation clinging to her words like a second skin. 'Let me try to explain, I gotta have a couple more minutes left? Surely?'

Carmen runs a hand through her hair and sighs. 'Fine,' she hisses, 'make it quick.'

So Shane tries to explain about Gabe about the bad blood she cannot wash away, about the shadow of him, that follows her like her own, so they almost morph into one indistinguishable thing.

And finally Carmen's voice softens slightly, the brown of her eyes mellows momentarily. 'You're not your father Shane, I can't believe you've been holding on to this for so long. The way you've been with Jenny…all of your friends...'. She shakes her head. 'You're not him,' she repeats with more force this time.

If she's being honest, Shane has no idea what to do with that statement, maybe Carmen is right, but there's the distinct possibility that she isn't and that's the thing that really bites, that's all jagged teeth and claws.

'I really am sorry, you know,' she finally says, after she's allowed Carmen's words to rattle around her brain for long enough.

And Carmen regards her closely. 'Eres un jodido idiota.' She finally says, with a weak smile.

'I only got the idiot part,' Shane grins, 'my Spanish is a little rusty still.'

'It was the most important part.'

'I figured.' And they both laugh and it feels nice, light, better.

'Listen, I better get back,' Carmen finally says, fracturing the mood and Shane isn't sure where they go from here, or what it means.

'I love you Carmen,' she says, almost as if it's a confession. 'Maybe I don't deserve you, but don't ever doubt that.'

Carmen offers her a small nod in response.

'Promise?'

'Promise,' she says, her voice breaking around the word and Shane realises it's because she's about to cry.

'Say hi to the girls for me ok?' Carmen says sliding out of her seat and Shane feels powerless, as if she's trying to hold on to grains of sand that keep slipping through her fingers.

'Wait, one second,' Shane says, curling her fingers around the Latina's wrist, holding her gaze so powerfully it almost hurts. 'Is this it? Are we over?'

And then Carmen stops and smiles, kisses Shane on the cheek, lingeringly, teasingly soft and says, 'nothing is ever over in this world papi.'

And just like that she's gone, lost somewhere in the distance, towards the setting sun.