Um... So Hi! This might be a leeeeetle late... Sorry about that. :D I hope you enjoy this update! More is on the horizon!

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Brass harrumphed and then nodded. "All right – that's your business. Listen, kid, I gotta call Fischer and update him. I assume he'll handle everything with your DA. . . . What can I tell him about you?"

Nick considered this question for a long moment while looking at Maribel's room. Then he turned back to Brass and replied, "You can tell him I'm going to wrap things up here and be on the first available flight."

Brass nodded. "Somehow, I don't quite believe that."

Nick raised an eyebrow at Brass, his arms crossed over his chest. "I wouldn't ask you to lie, sir."

With a smirk, Brass stuck out his hand. "It was nice working with you, kid." Nick shook his and Warrick's hands, and then turned back to Maribel's room.

Exiting Maribel's hospital room was a tall, slightly pudgy man in a white coat. Nick approached him.

"Are you Maribel's doctor?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm treating Ms. Serrano . . . who are you?"

"I'm a friend of hers; my name's Nick Stokes." He held out his hand for the doctor to shake.

The doctor accepted Nick's hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Stokes. I'm Dr. Harris."

"How's she doing?" asked Nick. "What's her prognosis?"

Dr. Harris looked Nick over for a moment. "How close a friend are you?" he asked.

"I'm all she has."

The doctor cleared his throat. "Well, Mr. Stokes . . . you know that she has lupus?"

"Yes."

"And you know that there's no cure for that."

"Well, yeah . . . but I thought, maybe now that she's got some medical attention . . . there would be something you could do. You know . . . give her a little . . . a little more time."

Dr. Harris shook his head. "She's in bad shape," he said, not unsympathetically.

"Are you sure there's nothing you can do? Because if it's a question of who'll pay the bills-"

"I treat all of my patients the same – it's not a matter of money," said Dr. Harris, his irritation evident. "If she had gotten to me sooner – much sooner – I could have extended her life. As it stands . . . there's nothing I can do. She's very sick, Mr. Stokes."

Nick lowered his head, and then raised it again to look the doctor squarely in the eye. "How much time does she have?"

Dr. Harris shook his head a little. "It's hard to tell at this point. She could fight it for as long as a week . . . or she could let go, and it would only be a couple of hours. Right now, it's all in her hands. We're managing her pain, but that's really all we can do. I'm sorry."

Nick lowered his head again, and covered his eyes. The doctor laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment, then squeezed and walked away.

When he returned to Maribel's room he stood a respectable distance away from her bed again, like he had when Brass and Warrick were behind him. Her head rested on her pillow, and her eyes were closed.

He took the moment to absorb her condition, to acknowledge what her nurses and doctor had told him. She looked small and frail, a far cry from the healthy, beautiful teenager she had been when he'd last seen her in Dallas, crying in his parents' driveway.

Maribel took a deep breath and let it out, and then opened her eyes and looked Nick over. "Where is my father?" she asked, her voice markedly more tired.

"He's being held for now," replied Nick. "I'll do what I can for him."

"Are you going to call your father?"

"No," replied Nick. He approached her bedside then, cautiously. "I need to make some phone calls," he said. "I have to talk to my captain and the DA about this case. I don't know what they'll want me to do, but whatever it is, I have to do it."

She nodded. "I know."

"I shouldn't be too long. I'll be back as soon as I can, and we can talk, okay?"

Again, she nodded, tears trailing down her cheeks. "Okay, Nicky."

He took her use of his favored nickname as encouragement and leaned forward to leave a kiss on her temple. "I'll see you soon," he whispered, and with a light squeeze of her fingers, he left the room, bound for the crime lab.

After picking up his evidence from the clerk, he sat in a quiet conference room and made the phone calls he needed to make. He explained what he had uncovered first to the Houston County district attorney. She was a family friend and they liked and trusted one another, in addition to being united in their dislike of Captain Fischer. They agreed on a course of action, and she promised to filter the message down to the captain. Then he called another old friend, one who knew what it was like to be judged unfairly, to ask for a bit of specialized help.

Then he went to PD to pay one last visit to Ramón.

Nick sat down across from Maribel's father and met his eyes. Ramón was infuriatingly calm, and even smirked.

"What did you find out, Señor Stokes?"

"According to what my DA says, you're just as responsible as she is," he replied. "More so, in my opinion. You should have told her there were people in that truck."

Ramón shook his head. "Do you know how much stress it put on her to know when we had passengers?" he said. "She'd be in pain for weeks. The trips back and forth to Mexico were supposed to help her."

Nick sighed and looked away. "I'm not going to fight this fight with you."

"Then what are you here for?" asked Ramón.

Nick looked up at him again. "The only thing I ever wanted from you."

Ramón gave Nick a long, searching look. "She's been sick a long time," he said. "But these last months. . . . Do you remember her Quinceañera?"

"Yes," replied Nick softly, as memories of his teenaged self with ruffle-clad Maribel in his arms danced through his thoughts.

"These last months, when I look at her, I have to think of a time when she was happy, or I get angry. I have to remind myself that she had some very good years. Lately, it's been her Quinceañera that I've thought of. I suppose because I'll never have the chance to see her get married. Putting her hand in yours that night is the closest I'll ever come to giving her away. I didn't have a choice that night . . . . and, I suppose, I don't have a choice now."

Nick shook his head. "Not really, no."

Ramón chuckled a little and turned back to Nick. "What do you want?" he asked gently.

The younger man paused a moment before he voiced what he did not quite believe yet. "I need to know what to do after she dies."

Ramón's eye twitched. "You shouldn't have to do anything. She'll be sent back to Mexico, just like me."

"I can bring her home," said Nick. "I can get her to California."

"She doesn't belong in this country," said Ramón. "Assuming they bother checking for next of kin, your government will send her body to her grandmother. She will make sure her granddaughter gets a proper funeral."

"I can get her to California," protested Nick again.

"Nicolas, I said no!" snapped Ramón, and for a split second Nick remembered being eighteen and entirely intimidated by him.

But Nick wasn't the same wide-eyed teenager; he was a grown man whose world had just been upended, and he snapped right back at Maribel's father. "Hey – you know what, I got a newsflash for you, Ramón! This isn't all about you! Stop being so damn stubborn!"

"I am not a spoiled child like you, Nicolas! I will have no less than what my daughter deserves!"

"Your daughter doesn't deserve to be buried in Mexico where no one will visit her! Her mother deserves to know where she is – what Maribel deserves, Ramón, is to have a funeral where her sisters and brother can cry and mourn and talk about how much they love her. It isn't just you that's losing Maribel."

Ramón looked away again.

"I'll get her to California. You tell me which church."

"Nicolas-"

"Which. Church?"

Ramón sighed. "Saint Cecelia."

"Thank you," said Nick, and he waited for Ramón to look up at him again. "INS will be here to take you into custody within an hour; they'll move you to Houston County."

"What about Maribel? What will we be charged with?"

"In exchange for your full cooperation, they'll drop all criminal charges against Maribel. You'll be charged with aiding and abetting for sure, and probably negligent homicide," replied Nick. "Other than that, I don't honestly know. But you have a good lawyer, and she'll do what she can for you."

Ramón couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Friend of yours, I assume."

"Her name's Jenny Baker," said Nick. "She'll be in contact with you soon." Nick paused and looked him over. He was tired, that was sure, but there was something else in his eyes. "Did you get the chance to say goodbye?"

Ramón met his eyes. "No," he said. "They put her in an ambulance and me in a squad car. Pulled over for speeding . . . arrested because my ID was expired. All these years, I have been so careful . . . only to get tagged for something stupid."

Nick smiled. "That's not all that uncommon. But to be honest, I'm glad you were stupid."

The older man looked closely at Nick for a moment, and then spoke in a low voice. "Her birth certificate is in the inside pocket of the jacket she was wearing."

"She just happens to have her birth certificate?"

"We brought it along so the hospital would know where to send her," said Ramón, irritated.

Nick nodded once, and then asked one more question. "Sir. . . . Does Señora Serrano know about any of this?"

Ramón lowered his chin and let out a breath. "Yes. She knows." Then he swallowed and looked at the table top for a long moment, formulating what he would say next. "I don't know if it will make any difference to you," he began, "but those eleven people – the ones who died, the ones who suffered – I never meant them any harm. I mourned their passing; I don't bow my head to pray without begging forgiveness for the blood on my hands."

It did make a difference to Nick, and he told Ramón as much. Ramón was stubborn as hell, but Nick knew he'd been right all along – he loved his family; he was a good man.

"Cuidala muy bien, Nicolas," snapped Ramón suddenly.

Nick held his sad and angry gaze for a moment. "Yo cuidare de ella, Señor Serrano."

Ramón nodded and looked away. "Te deberias ir," he said.

Nick nodded as well. "Sí, deberia irme." He stood up and pushed his chair in. "Adios, señor. Cuidese."

"Goodbye, Nick," replied the older man with a smile, and then he watched Nick walk away for the last time.

"Your father said you had things to do in Texas."

Maribel's eyelids fluttered, and she watched Nick walk toward her bed. "I did," she said softly. "But Texas came to me."

He sat on the edge of her bed. "You were coming to find me?"

"I wasn' going to look for you," she said. "I thought you'd be married by now, maybe have some children already. I didn' want to upset your life. I just wanted to remember. Just wanted to go back to school . . . to the baseball fields . . . to Holy Cross, our church."

He allowed a little smile. "I always thought that's where we'd get married."

She smiled too, when he took her hand. "My father was here to say goodbye. He's on the way to Texas. He said you got him a lawyer."

"I did," he said, turning serious a moment. "Do you remember Jenny Baker?"

Maribel nodded. "Yes. She was always nice to me."

"She's a good lawyer."

"Why didn't you ask Billy?" she queried, tilting her head.

"Because Billy's still a prick," replied Nick matter-of-factly, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes.

A slow smile crept across her face. "Some things don' change," she said.

He smiled back. "No, they don't."

She admired him sleepily for a long moment. "I always loved your smile." His eyes filled at this admission, and he brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. "I always loved you."

He scooted closer to her, tightening his grip on her hand. "Why didn't you write to me?" he asked.

She sat up a little straighter, holding his eager gaze. "We were in Houston only a month. Everything went so crazy after we left . . . to be honest, I didn' know what to write. I didn' feel right, but I thought it was just having to move, having to leave you and all of my friends. After we move to California, that's when I knew something was wrong, and I finally saw a doctor. I didn't want to be a burden, not to anyone. And I tried to write to you, to tell you, but every time I tried . . . I couldn't. I couldn't tell you that you'd never have what we talked about having with each other – a good, long marriage, and a house full of children. Not with me. I thought it was better if you let it go – if you thought I didn' care anymore, it would be easier to move on."

"It was hell, Maribel," he said, his voice low. The tears were starting to roll down his cheeks.

"By the time I regretted it . . . it was too late."

He wanted to tell her that it wasn't, it would never have been, but he couldn't speak.

"I wanted you to think I found that nice Catholic boy my father always wanted for me. I wanted you to paint that pretty picture of me in your mind."

"I did," said Nick finally. "And I hated that nice Catholic boy."

Maribel smiled.

"I was angry at you, for a while. But I kept looking because I wanted to know what happened to you . . . and I always hoped that that boy hadn't shown up yet."

She chuckled a little. "He never did," she said. "I never liked nice Catholic boys anyway. For me, I only liked slightly naughty Protestant boys."

Nick laughed and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "This slightly naughty Protestant boy loves you."

"Still?" she whispered. "After everything?"

"Still," he replied. "Always."

"Nicky," she whispered, and put her free hand against his cheek.

"I'm going to get you home," he said.

"I can't go anywhere," she said. "I can't even stand."

"I mean . . . I mean after . . ."

"After I die?" she asked. "It's OK to say it, Nicky. I know I don' have long."

He nodded and tried to fight back tears. "For your funeral," he clarified. "I'm going to get you home."

She shook her head. "Nicky, it's OK. I have my birth certificate. They will send me to my abuela; she'll bury me. When my father and I planned this trip he knew he would have to leave me at a hospital. He took care of everything."

He knitted his brows and tilted his head. "I still don't understand why you tried to make it to Texas in the first place."

Maribel smiled at him. "I had a choice. . . . I could wait to die at home with my family, or I could go with my father to Texas . I didn' want to wait for my death, and I didn' want my sisters' last memory of me to be anything but a smile. I don' want to be forgotten in Mexico, but I could only choose one. I regretted never contacting you, and I thought if I could remember our years together . . . I thought, if I could be close to those places – close to you . . . maybe it would be a little better."

He smiled through the bitter tears of happiness rolling down his cheeks. "Maribel, do you want to be buried in Mexico?"

"No," she said. "I don't want to be buried at all."

"Well, I don't want to bury you, but I don't get to pick."

"Will you really get me home?"

Nick nodded.

"Then that's what I want," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks, as well. "I love California . . . I want to be where Mami can visit me."

"I'll get you there," he vowed.

"How can you do that?" she whispered.

He searched her face, and paused to blot her tears with a tissue. "Do you remember the night you left Texas ?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Do you remember . . . you said you wanted to marry me?"

She nodded. "Yes, Nicky. I meant it."

"Do you still want to marry me?"

Smiling, she tilted her head and her eyes filled with tears. "If we had more time . . . if I wasn't dying, Nicolas, I would still marry you."

"I promised you," he said quietly. "I promised I would marry you."

"Nicky-"

"Mari, if you were healthy we would have all the time in the world. If you were healthy, you and I could take our time re-establishing our relationship and we could make plans . . . but we don't have time. You're dying." His eyes flooded and his throat constricted. "If you really don't want to, Mari, I'll understand. I will. But I didn't just promise I'd marry you because I was a stupid teenager; I didn't just promise I'd marry you because I wanted you to think it was OK that we messed around in the barn; I'm not just talking about it now as a means to get you home to your mom. I promised to marry you because I wanted to marry you, because I wanted to be your husband, and I still do."

She was crying openly now. "I wanted to be a wife and mother more than anything," she said.

Nick put his hand on her cheek and wiped her tears away with his thumb. "You can still be a wife," he said. "You can still be my wife."

"For only a little while. A blink of an eye."

"Yes. I know it isn't perfect, Mari. I'm sorry."

She rested her head on her pillow and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she lifted his hand to hers and kissed it. "I will marry you," she said. "But I want to be married in the eyes of God."

Nick smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "I'll find a priest," he said. "I'll take care of everything, Mari – you rest. I'll be back soon."

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