A/N - Not everyone figures out their sexuality early on. Some of us take years into adulthood to even begin questioning it. Also, not everyone fits into the popular, but rigid labels of homo or heterosexual. Quite a few very lovely people discover that their sexuality is neither. To give a broad generality, they're bisexual. This is the Letty I've written.

Letty fell in love early, thought she'd found her life partner in Dom. Her life was turned upside down when Dom made the fear-induced, selfish decision to leave her in the D.R. When she met Shannon, she started to question her sexuality. She'd never wanted an open relationship, had only wanted Dom. When her heart started looking for companionship again, she was forced to face the possibility that male wasn't the only kind of person she could love.

A/N II - revisions Aug2015: minor editing.

Chapter 14

What if

"They're late," complained Letty. Again.

Dom laughed at her. "When has Mia ever been on time for anything? It only got worse when she married the buster."

Letty squirmed, seriously considered throwing a full-on temper tantrum. She was nervous and anxious and excited and every other emotion that came with missing a sister who was about to show up with a baby. Trying to distract herself, she watched Shannon, but the woman looked as nervous as she was. "What's your problem?"

Shannon stiffened, glanced at Dom and Elena. "Who wouldn't be nervous being surrounded by your family? You people are practically a mafia. Don Toretto, just add cigar, fedora, and suit."

It was the sight of a taxi that broke through their laughing argument about who could get Dominic Toretto into a fedora. Mia and Brian yawned out of the backseat, then came a baby carrier. Letty stood rigid while the couple dealt with luggage and paying the driver. Kid basket hanging from his elbow, Brian nudged Mia, nodded toward the house where Letty had managed to step off the porch.

"Letty!"

Her default calm-bitch exterior went up. "Hey, Mia."

Already across the short distance, Mia slugged her in the arm. "Don't you 'hey, Mia' me, you bitch. You fucking died on us!" Squeezing her into a hug with every ounce of her skinny frame, Mia actually made Letty squeak. "Don't you ever fucking do that again."

Bluff called, Letty sighed into the embrace, felt traitorous liquid in her eyes. She refused to let her voice show it though. "Yea, yea. I missed you too, little girl."

Mia stepped back, took Letty's face in her hands. Satisfied with whatever she saw, she nodded. Another hug, less desperate and painful, was thrown around her. Hidden by hair, Mia whispered. "You and Dom?"

"Not anymore."

"You're still my sister."

Letty sniffed. "You too."

From Mia's chest, a sharp inhale and long exhale responded. It suddenly occurred to Letty that Mia had probably felt just as abandoned, been waiting for her sister to tell her they were still family. She squeezed the younger woman a little tighter.

"Is that Shannon?"

"Yea."

"Anything I should know?" They parted, Mia's hands caught on Letty's arms.

A glance over her shoulder. Shannon had given in to her camera, its shutter pointed at them. "That thing is permanently attached to her."

"God, you're as difficult as ever."

A shit-eating grin stretched her face. "She called the Toretto clan a mafia."

Mia grinned her own version of trouble, and they went up to the porch, Letty on the top step, Mia in front of Shannon. The camera made its way to Shannon's hip as the woman absorbed the suddenly serious expressions surrounding her. "G'day, love. Good seeing you again."

"I hear that you've compared my family to a fucking mafia."

Uncertain, Shannon looked to Letty, who stared back unhelpfully.

"Do we look like a bunch of sadistic crime lords to you?"

The photographer licked her lips.

"Say yes," came Brian's laughing voice. "Because it's so fucking true."

"Brian!" Mia whipped around to level an irritated glare at him, but he kept laughing. "Hey, Letty, grab this for me, would you?"

She jogged over, expecting to pick up something from the pile beside him, but he handed her his kid, freed from the carrier.

"Meet Jack."

Tiny and warm and blowing bubbles, the progeny of Brian and Mia stared up at her with curious brown eyes. She had never held a kid before in her life. Ever. Almost everything else under the sun, except one of these. Unable to take her eyes off it, or barely breathe for fear of dropping the fragile blob, she hissed. "What do I do with it?"

"You hold him. Say hi."

"Hi."

More bubbles slurried out.

"I'm your Aunt Letty."

His eyes moved around, and his arms began flapping. A squeal came out.

"What's happening?" She fretted.

Brian laughed at her again. "He likes you."

A little fist suddenly zoomed at her, and she felt a tug at her neck. The kid was fingering her cross, his entire focus zoned in on its shine. An entirely different rod of fear pistoned through her, that the kid would ruin it, or, or...

"Look at me being an idiot." She huffed quietly to the baby. "This was my brother's. I'll tell you about him someday, and a lot of other important stuff." Her eyes were able to lift off the tiny miracle to glance at her family. "Like how things are just things. It's good people that you really need in your life."

An hour of heated arguing, and the Toretto siblings finally reached a compromise over how they would decorate and furnish the house. "Shannon, hire an interior designer."

Coughing on her water, "What?"

"And another contractor. The kitchen has got to be remodeled." Mia paused, glanced at Dom. "The bathrooms too."

"Why me?"

"Because then they can blame you when they both hate something." Letty explained, got a smack on the arm for.

"No." Mia's glare said she was ready to dole out more bruises. "Because you've already done an amazing job." She gestured at the house that had workers crawling around it despite the late hour. "How did you get all this coordinated so fast?"

Shannon's folding chair rustled. "My parents did this for a living. Mum was a designer, dad a contractor. They specialized in doing complete rebuilds in strict time frames. For the rich and powerful who could afford them."

Tension settled, straining Letty to keep from asking if their jobs had been what put them in Shaw's path, and Shannon staring off at the house.

"We're totally mafia," broke the tension. Brian grinned at them all. "Rich and powerful. Did anyone else notice how the hood rats have been watching us all evening? I've seen the same black Escalade drive past four times."

"Five." Elena countered. "Three other vehicles have done the same."

"Harry knows we're back in town, Hector's put out word, and the local kids like me." Letty tossed back the end of her beer, considered getting tequila and a blender. Margaritas sounded bomb as fuck.

"Neighborhood knows what a good car out front of this house means." Pointed out Dom. No one would mess with them.

Letty remained the only one who had a worthy ride. Customs was doing a too-thorough job of inspecting the cars coming from Europe, and Dom's freshly acquired vintage Firebird needed some serious love before it could be called good. The Scion's green chassis lights were comforting from its place on the curb.

Shannon returned to the conversation. "And I'm sure that a few saw her gun while she was supervising clean-up."

"You packin', Letty?" Brian asked.

"Two hot chicks alone in this hood? Fuck yea. Where are Tej and Roman? Han?"

"Rome got distracted in Vegas, and Tej said he'd be here tomorrow." Brian answered. "Han..."

"How'd he get his car out of lockup so fast?" Dom complained, jealousy over the approaching car deepening his tone. Engine humming, a black and orange Mazda RX-7 was pulling up behind the Firebird. From the passenger side came Han's familiar lanky frame, and from the driver side slid Braga's bitch.

No. She was Han's girlfriend now, and she seemed alright. Still, Letty's gun made its way into her hand. "Who's gonna tell me why we've got Braga's whore in the family now?"

"She was an undercover cop and helped us take Braga down." Dom tried to defuse her.

"She put me out in that desert." Letty argued.

"Letty," Han started, but a hand on his shoulder quieted him. Gisele put herself in Letty's clear sights. "She's right. I did. Did you do things for Shaw that you regret, Letty?"

Remembering how it was useless to say 'no' when he needed something, cars, her body, a suicide mission, because his response would have been a bullet or worse, Letty deflated. Her four-Corona-happy-buzz killed, she let the gun swivel around the trigger guard and held it out for Dom to take. Disarmed and feeling like an ass, she sighed. "You like margaritas, or was that part of the undercover deal too?"

Gisele pursed her lips. "I like them."

"Drive me to the store, Shan." Keys were held out to the sober woman. "We need a lot more booze for this party."

Bags of ice, tequila, triple sec, limes, salt, and glasses later, they returned. Letty brandished the blender that she'd picked up five minutes before the little kitchen shop closed and went to work, turning the dusty garage into a bar. Alongside her, Shannon helped juice the limes and rim the cups. Stealing a lime, Mia sliced it into wedges, chased a shot with one, and handed a clean wedge to Jack.

He squealed and burbled and made everyone laugh.

Letty was vaguely aware of people arguing about how she was going to get back to her garage. "Shan's got me."

"She's as tanked as you." Brian's voice reprimanded. "I'm calling you a cab." His voice went on, muttering about houses without beds.

"Stinks in here." Letty grumbled as she leaned into the soft body beside her. Thickened by alcohol, Shannon's Australian lilt sang to the cab driver about where to go. Snuggling into her perfume, Letty dozed through the drive.

"Come on, love," called her out of it enough to stumble from the cab, to the curb. Arms caught her, pulled her up to stumble with her through the lobby, the elevator that they filled with giggles, the door that one of them opened, to a bed, where the arms secured around her, lips pressed to her temple, and a voice whispered about dreams.

Cotton in her head, Letty flailed, furious at the sound of a phone's jangle. She slapped the bedside table, didn't find one, then went to her pockets. Still nothing. Her eyes started to open, took in a dark room, the curtains outlined by early pinkish light. The bedside clock said it was barely after six. "Where the fuck?"

A hand reached under her, disappeared, then shoved a phone at her face. Taking the thing, Letty fumbled with the button while her dried-up cubes of eyeballs watched Shannon pull the covers back over her head.

"Hello?"

"Letty?"

"What?"

"Oh." Mia's voice registered. "I thought I called Shannon."

Struggling to focus, Letty grumbled. "Why?"

"I needed to talk to her. I'm at the house, and the contractor is..."

"Hold on." Letty interrupted. "Shan."

A shapeless sound grumbled out.

Letty took her turn shoving the phone at her face. "It's for you."

"H'lo?" Yawning, Shannon dropped the phone to rest on her ear. Garbled Aussie nonsense came out of her.

From her pillow, Letty could hear Mia's confusion. "Shan, American." It didn't help. Sighing, she rolled closer, took the phone, found the speaker button, and translated the still-drunk woman's replies. Naturally, when the questions ended, Letty fluttered to a more comfortable position. When she woke up hours later, head pounding, mouth fuzzy, she had to work a little extra hard at getting out of bed, tangled with Shannon as she was.

She used the toilet, found Shannon's stash of painkillers, knocked some back with a glass of water, refilled it, and shuffled back to the bed. The water and bottle of medicine was set on Shan's bedside table. Around the edge, back to her side, Letty groped. She retreated under the covers and hummed as Shannon's body curled around her again.

A week. That's how long it took to get the Toretto house painted, furnished, inhabited, and throwing a Sunday barbeque. That's also how long Shannon let her not confront the tension between them. Or rather, Shannon's body. It called to Letty's eyes to examine it properly, to linger in places, to send thoughts to the back of her brain, telling it to constantly wonder what it would be like to touch, to smell, to kiss.

If someone had pressed her, she might have admitted to wanting to kiss Shannon for a while now. Admitting the blossoming desire to not only kiss, but to hold and melt into the woman, to make slow, passionate love to her, was an entirely different situation. For the first time in months, she found herself admiring Shannon's body all by itself, not comparing it to Dom's or wondering what the Aussie would be like as a man. She confronted the idea that she was attracted to a woman, honestly allowed her mind to linger on it, to know it was more than a flash of lust as she'd always attributed similar feelings to.

Once past that, she came up against the terrifying wall of 'what if.' What if Shannon wasn't attracted to her anymore? What if the woman hated the idea of a romance with her? What if...

"Letty?" Shannon was on the other side of the room, almost ready for them to leave the hotel, braiding feathers into a coil of her hair. Her fingers stilled, body going tense under Letty's sudden, heavy gaze.

"What if I asked you to stay in America with me?"

A feather slipped from nerveless fingers, fluttered and danced its way to the floor. Eyes flashing with emotion, Shannon replied slowly. "What are you asking me?"

Long years of racing for her life had given Letty the familiarity with moments. There were certain small seconds that could change everything. A blink of the eye while weaving through traffic at 100mph, that year-long second before a crash, the breath before a leap between speeding cars, the oh-fuck moment before a fist swung, intending to break her face. She could dodge or take the hit.

Sucking her lip between her teeth, Letty decided to take the hit.

The weight of Shannon's eyes on her, she closed the distance between them, stood looking down, watched her hands come up and touch a coil of hair. Heat from the woman's neck hummed along her fingers, raced a trail of prickled flesh up her arm. "I stopped wishing you were a guy."

Harshly, a breath stuttered, groomed brows creased.

She let her fingers leap from hair to cheek, caressed the eternally stubble-free skin, encountered the edge of softly painted lips. Fingertip, feeling the heat of Shannon's breath, trembled and followed the line dividing mauve and tan. "It would be a fucking shame if you were anyone but who you are, and what I'm asking is if," the other side was reached, "I can kiss you."