Disclaimer: It's still not mine.

A/n: Tonight's fic is for Breesecretdaughter, who asked for a continuation of the scene in the pilot where Lynette punches Tom. This is one I've had in my mind to write for a long time (as in I've had part of it written for two years), and I'm glad I finally got it done. Thanks for the request!

Continued thanks and deepest appreciation to all of you!

A Second Collection

By Ryeloza

Twenty-One: Between the Lines

"'Let's risk it'?" Lynette said again as Tom tenderly attempted to move his jaw. It hadn't been a particularly hard punch, he doubted it would even bruise, and he thought he was more stunned than anything. But he seriously wondered if Lynette understood the meaning of an overreaction. "Are you kidding me?"

"You just punched me," he pointed out. "You might have knocked a tooth loose."

Lynette answered this blatant exaggeration with one pointed look. "Do you remember what happened the last time you said that?"

"Yeah. We ended up with Penny."

"And the time before that?"

"To be fair, I don't think I actually said that when we conceived Parker." In fact, he knew he hadn't. If they were going to tell that story, it went more like it was their first weekend away from the twins since they were born, and they'd been really, really drunk. And there had been a hot tub. And absolutely no thought of contraceptives. Not that he was about to mention that.

"Tom, because of you I can count on one hand the number of months I wasn't pregnant in the late nineties. We are done having kids. End of discussion."

"This is a discussion?" Quickly, he held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, a fruitless attempt to quell the suspicious, furious look in her eyes. "Okay. Sorry. We're not joking about this. Got it." With no regard for life or limb, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her clavicle. He wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't even more turned on; it probably spoke to some masochistic part of him, but she was undeniably hot when she got this passionate. He gave her a couple more less tentative kisses. "I'll wear a condom."

"Really? You're still in the mood?"

"You're not?"

Lynette sighed as his lips trailed down, kissing to the swell of her breast. He settled one hand on her hip, surprised when she took a firm grip on his tie and gave a sharp tug to regain his attention. "I'm sorry," she said.

"That's okay. I might have deserved it. Especially after hearing your voicemails get progressively more desperate this week."

"They weren't desperate."

"No…You just threatened to pack up the kids and take them with you on an airplane to come spend three days with me in a crappy little motel room."

"I did not."

"Do I need to replay it?"

"You saved it?"

"That's what I thought." He grinned for a second, brushing a finger along her eyebrow and down her cheek, and then growing more serious as she shut her eyes and took a deep breath. This hadn't been a trip he'd made just for a quickie; in fact, this was actually a pretty obnoxious dent in his schedule. She'd sounded so overwhelmed on the phone, though (whether she wanted to deny it now or not), and it only compounded his guilt about not being home this week. It wasn't like she was going to admit out loud that she'd needed him to hold her hand through her friend's funeral, but he knew it was true. He'd learned long ago how to hear what she wasn't saying to him. Usually, it was those things that were the most important.

He'd be lying, though, if he didn't say that he'd hoped this could wait until after he'd ravished her. He'd been aching to touch her—really touch her—since the second he'd walked into the house.

Good things come to those who wait, his mother's voice echoed in his head, more effective than the coldest shower. Not that he hadn't already been waiting over a week to touch her like this. Still…

"Was it a nice service?" he asked, still gently running his finger along the planes of her face. Her eyes betrayed the subtlest hint of vulnerability as she opened them, try as she might to mask it with indifference. It was amazing that she still bothered to hide from him after eight years together; vaguely, he wondered if she'd ever stop.

"Yes," she said. She lightly scraped her fingernail along the skin he'd exposed loosening his tie. The things she could do to him with the slightest touch—she might as well have spread her legs and said, "Take me now." Instead, she smiled halfheartedly and said, "The minister was inane, but Paul…Paul said some really lovely things. I never knew that he and Mary Alice met at a swing dancing club."

"Paul swing dances?"

"No. He said he made an ass out of himself. But I could picture…Mary Alice would have found it charming, you know?"

"Yeah."

It struck him then that he could feel the loss of Mary Alice more keenly through Lynette than any personal emotion. He'd always liked her; she'd had a good sense of humor and was always unfailingly nice. But when he'd heard what had happened, his sorrow had been more about how this would affect Lynette, what she would be feeling and thinking and how she would be hurting. That had broken him far more than the death itself, and he knew he'd never be able to explain it to anyone without sounding callous and cold.

"I saw her that morning," said Lynette apropos to nothing; her voice sounded uncharacteristically meek. "And I knew…She seemed not…herself. But I was running late, and you were leaving for Chicago that day, and I didn't…"

She pressed her hand over her eyes, not crying, but trying to fight off exhaustion and guilt and grief as only she would. He stroked his hand over her forehead, letting his thumb graze her temple in a soothing gesture. "This isn't your fault."

"I know." She was lying through her teeth; he could hear it in her voice, see it in the way her body tensed slightly. "I know that."

"Lynette." He waited until she drew her hand away from her eyes, meeting her defiant gaze with the softest look. She'd fight him every step of the way on this, but it wouldn't stop him from saying it. "You can't save everyone. It's not possible. And it's not your job."

"I don't—I know that."

"You're probably never going to know why she did it. But it's not because you didn't stop and ask one time. It doesn't work that way."

"I'm never going to know that for sure."

"This—" He paused and took a deep breath, working hard to control his temper. There was nothing that would ever change the weight of concern on her shoulders; not when she had been acting as a caregiver from the time she was six. He loved her for it as much as he wanted to take that burden and bear it himself. "This isn't your responsibility. Mary Alice had dozens of people in her life that loved her, and no one saw it coming. You can't take the blame for this."

"I'm not, Tom. I'm really not." She raised a hand to cup his cheek, and then moved to run her thumb against his bottom lip, a way to quiet him before she spoke. "But part of me is always going to wonder. That's just how it is."

She stared at him, silently asking for acquiescence that he didn't want to give. There was no choice, though. Lynette wasn't suddenly going to change, and he didn't want her too. It was just that he'd give anything in his power to steal at least this one hardship from her, if only she'd let him.

She must have seen the hopeless realization in his eyes; her own look softened, becoming tender and grateful. She knew he understood, even if he didn't agree. "Do you know how much I love you?" she asked, wearing a smile so loving and appreciative that he thought it might break him. She moved her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "Really," she murmured against his lips. "Love you more than you'll ever know."

"I know," he said, because he could feel the same thing down to his bones. He could never tell her how much he loved her, in words or actions—there was no expression equivalent to how much he felt for her. But as she held him closer, kissed him deeper, he knew that they'd spend the rest of their lives trying to speak that truth.