Disclaimer: This is not mine.

Chapter Summary: The past influences the present in too many instances. Post-ep for "Flashback."

A/n: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! You guys are awesome!

Coda: Season Seven

A story by Ryeloza

Fourteen: Flashback

One

"Are you okay?"

Carlos stole an anxious glance at Gaby as he said this, but she remained as silent and expressionless as she had since they left the therapist. Even as he willed her to say something, guilt settled in his stomach like a familiar master—part of him wanted her to pretend with him. He wanted her to smile and nod and act like everything was fine because it would make him feel better. Not for one second, though, would either of them really believe the lie.

In some ways, this had been much worse than the first time he'd heard her tell the story. Then he'd sat listening without bothering to hold back his rage as she clinically told him what happened.

Now he'd been forced to listen as Gaby's pent up emotions spilled out of her, unable to react because this wasn't about him.

Then he'd been able to drink, the alcohol dimming his pain.

Now he was forced to endure.

Then they had promised never to discuss it again.

Now they were reliving it. They would continue to relive it because part of the problem was the fact that Gaby kept pushing it away.

Then and now, Carlos wished he could make it all go away forever.

Sadly, he reached out and took Gaby's hand, squeezing it gently. Without looking at him, she sighed. "I'm not okay."

"Today was hard."

Gaby nodded. "Every day is hard, Carlos. Today was worse than usual."

"I know."

Gaby pressed her forehead to the window, staring out at the slowly dimming sky like there was something magical there. "Just promise me that somehow this is going to make it all better."

"I think it will."

Gaby didn't answer. She just kept staring at the horizon—looking forward or back, Carlos couldn't tell.

Two

Monroe could remember the first time he saw Susan Bremmer like it was yesterday. It was the first day of high school; his locker was three down from hers, and he'd been putting books away when she'd shown up with a whole gaggle of girls. They were all squealing over who had made the cheerleading squad. The moment wasn't anything special. If anything, Susan only stood out because she was the only brunette in the group, but when Monroe thought about it, he always pinpointed it as the moment he fell in love with Susan.

He still thought that if he hadn't blown out his knee the year before, he would have been on the football team, and he and Susan could have had that happily ever after. He'd be the one married to her with that little boy, and he could give her his kidney, and for the rest of their lives she'd look at him like he was a hero.

You still could have been her hero.

Monroe shook the thought sadly from his head. It wasn't enough; it never could have been.

He heard Susan coming before he saw her. He was far enough away that she wouldn't see him as she approached her apartment, just the way he wanted it. Once she was inside, he'd wait another half an hour before he knocked on the door. Perhaps it was weird that he was going to ask for his scrapbook back, but he honestly knew now that it was the only thing he had left of that girl he'd known decades ago.

A little boy reached the door before Susan. It took Monroe a full minute to realize that it was Susan's son. "Come on, Mom!" he yelled. He was bouncing up and down in front of the door; his energy made Monroe weary.

Susan finally stepped into view, looking as tired as Monroe felt. She had her cell phone to her ear, and hardly paid any attention as she opened the door and let herself into the apartment. In a matter of seconds, she had come and gone from him just as she always had before.

Monroe shook his head and walked away. He had to accept it. Susan was never going to be anything more than a phantom to him.

The next time he saw her would probably be at her funeral. Just another instance where she wouldn't know he was there.

Three

Just as Stella downed her first whiskey sour, the twins showed up, plopping into seats across from her, two grinning bookends. After all these years, she still couldn't tell them apart.

"Hey, Grandma."

"Sorry we're late."

For one stupid moment, Stella waited for the rest of the family to arrive in a noisy caravan before she realized that the identical, expectant expressions on the boys' faces meant that they were waiting for her to start this dinner—this was it. Disappointment fluttered in her chest, and she crushed it with spite. Lynette always had to prove a point. Annoyed, she waved the waiter over to refill her glass. "Does your mother know you're here?"

"Grandma, we're twenty. We can do what we want."

Stella snorted with a derisive shake of her head. "Twenty," she muttered, "and still living at home. My girls were out of the house the second they turned eighteen, and they never came back."

Porter and Preston exchanged looks. She knew what they were thinking—that they would have been gone at eighteen too if they had lived with her.

"You know, Mom wanted to come…" one of them ventured as the other nodded in agreement.

Stella took her second drink in hand, extending an accusatory finger their direction. "Don't patronize me. This is just your mother not wanting to give up any of her power."

"Grandma—"

"No, no, no. Don't. I know your mom, kiddos. She's just pissed that I'm independent now. No more rescuing me so she can feel all superior."

"Mom doesn't think that."

Stella rolled her eyes and downed her drink. She'd never doubted that Lynette had probably told the kids every horrible thing she'd ever done—shown them how good they had it. But the fact was that the kids weren't going to do anything to get on her bad side now. "Your mom's been thinking that since she was twelve. She has this compulsive need to take care of everyone, and if she's not, she doesn't know what to do. Why do you think she married your dad?" The thought made her chortle, improving her mood considerably. Lynette might not have been there, but that only made Stella's need to berate her greater. "Why do you think she had all you kids? Well I've got news for her, someday you're gonna grow up and leave her the same way she left me, and all that control is gonna be gone. She'll just be a lonely old woman waiting for you kids to call."

The twins shifted uncomfortably; they looked like Tom did whenever he had to talk to her—tongue-tied and appalled. It made her wonder if any of Lynette's kids had inherited her ballsy-ness. Her daughter had been taking care of herself since she was a kid; she'd been giving Stella money from the time she was sixteen; she'd dragged her sorry ass out of more dives than Stella cared to remember. And the truth was that Stella hated her for all of it. Now, having this money, it was the end of it; Lynette didn't get to hold any of that over her head any more. It was the shift in power that Stella had wanted for years.

"Well what do you think?" she said, her triumph overthrowing her anger. After all, Lynette's kids were here with her, not at home. "Should we eat?"

Guiltily, Porter and Preston picked up their menus, and Stella smiled.