Somewhere in an A/U. Characters belong to Janet Evanovich; I'm just playing, not making any money on this project (sadly).

Babe story; HEA; smut alert and graphic language ahead, so be warned.

Chapter 21

"Fucker nailed me again, didn't it?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes as I tried to sit up in bed. "How long was I out for this time?"

Carlos looked at me in confusion, "What nailed you, Babe? You had another one of your--what did you call them? Doomsday Orgasms. I carried you over here to the bed, and you were unconscious for just a few minutes."

"Damned ball of fucking white light," I tried to explain, a frown furrowing my brow, "Aims right for me, you know? Right at my head! Whirls around and around," I waved my arms, mimicking the spiral the ball made--and almost batting Carlos in the face. "And then BAM! Huge explosion! I just can't seem to get out of the way of it in time, no matter how hard I try. Then I go down like a ton of bricks."

Clearly he had no clue what I was babbling about. "Never mind any of that. Just relax, Babe," he comforted me, "You just lie back now and focus on getting your strength back, OK? When you feel up to it, I'll carry you into the bathroom to wash up, but for now I just--"

"OH!! Did you clean me?" I blinked, seeing the washcloth and the towel and noticing how fresh I felt down South, "That's so sweet of you, Carlos!"

He looked a bit sheepish, "Least I could do, Babe--considering I sort of got carried away there for a bit. Did I hurt you?"

"No," I assured him. "Not at all. It felt good…..except for the spanking part, that is," I added hurriedly. "I don't like butt stuff."

"So you keep reminding me, Babe. Still, I kinda thought you liked that last swat," he teased. "At least a little bit."

"It was OK," I shrugged, carefully avoiding his amused eyes, feeling myself flush as I remembered that delicious sixth Wack that had sent me soaring into the second Doomsday Orgasm of my life. Two in one night, yet! "The…other part…was OK too. Just not the spanking thing."

"Oh, so 'the other part was OK', huh?" he laughed, "That's why you passed out screaming with another Doomsday Orgasm and had to be revived. Not that you enjoyed it, or anything. It was just 'OK'."

"Egotistical bastard," I muttered, narrowing my eyes at him.

"That's me, Babe."

"It was….better than I thought it would be."

"Glad to hear it." He grinned, climbing into bed beside me and pulling me close so that I was nestled in his arms. "Nothing makes a man feel more like a man than hearing his woman say he was 'OK'…and that he was better than she thought he would be."

"You know damned well how incredible you are in the sack," I snorted, "Or on the desk, as the case may be. Your enormous ego doesn't need to be constantly stroked." Then I replayed his words, and got a goofy grin on my face. "Omigod! You called me your woman!"

"You are my woman," he squeezed me to him and kissed me tenderly on the nose. "You know it, and I know it. No matter what happens, you'll always be my woman, Babe."

"Yeah," I whispered, wrapping my arm around his chest and cuddling closer, desperately forcing out the 'no matter what happens' part of the sentence from my mind. I didn't want to think of that damned tour of duty! I didn't want to hear that he might not be back, that he might….. I couldn't even allow myself to think the word. He wasn't going to die! "I'll always be your woman, Carlos. And you'll always be my man."

"Siempre y por siempre, bebé." He saw my questioning look, and translated, "Always and forever, Babe."

"For me too," I repeated, "Siempre y por siempre, Carlos."

"Can I ask you a question, Babe? A serious question, I mean?"

"Ask me anything."

"When…when I was getting ready to enter you, you froze up and you said 'no butt stuff'. Even though I'd already told you I wouldn't go there. Did you not trust me, Babe?"

He sounded unsure and hurt. I pulled back and looked up at his face, needing him to understand. "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have bent over and let you…you know. I just…God, this is hard for me to explain. The thing is: it all goes back to Dickie."

"Your ex-husband?"

"Dick The Prick," I nodded, "He was…relentless, I guess you could say. He wanted to do it that way all the time--"

"Doggie style."

"No! You know! Butt stuff! He wanted to---to do that! And I didn't want to. I just…it doesn't appeal to me. It never was anything I ever wanted to try. So I said no. Over and over I'd say no. I'd explain why. Didn't matter to him. He'd keep bringing it up time after time. Until I finally stopped explaining, and just said flat-out no. I shouldn't have to explain--"

"No, you shouldn't, Babe," he sighed, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I pointed out reasonably, "It was Dickie's. He didn't care about me or what I wanted or needed or felt comfortable with. It was what he wanted, that's all that mattered to the bastard. Ever. So he'd demand doggie style instead. Which also…well, it just didn't appeal to me. I don't like not seeing the face of the guy I'm…you know."

"Got it."

"To be accommodating, trying to keep the sinking marriage afloat, I finally agreed to do it for him. Whether I wanted to or not. So I let him…." I couldn't keep the anger out of my voice, "And the bastard tried to put it in my ass anyway. He--"

Carlos froze. "He raped you? Anally?"

There was a long pause before I could get the words out. "He almost did. Not once but twice. I pulled away when I realized what he was doing, and tried to run out of the bedroom. And he grabbed me and we fought. Then…he hit me."

His voice was dangerously quiet, "He beat you, Steph?"

"Not exactly: I got away before that could happen. He hit me once or twice. In the face." I closed my eyes, remembering the horror of it. "He told me I 'belonged' to him, that as my husband, he was 'entitled' to whatever kind of sex he wanted, whenever he wanted it."

"God-damn son of a bitch."

"And I told him no. I pulled away and locked myself in the bathroom until he finally slammed out of the house. Probably went to Joyce or some other bimbo, although at the time I was too stupid to realize it."

"More likely too traumatized."

"I packed my bag right away, and went to my parents' house. I didn't want to be there when he got home--just in case. You know?" I felt the tears falling and brushed them away, hating this part of the story just as much. "My mother opened the door and saw me standing there with my suitcase. I didn't even get to finish the sentence--or tell her why--before she slammed the door in my face."

"She did what??" Carlos sounded incredulous.

"I told her I was leaving Dickie," I whispered, "And she told me that he was my husband; that whatever I'd done to 'offend him' I needed to 'apologize for'..."

"Good Christ, I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"She said that I needed to go back home immediately and stop 'disgracing' my family," I quoted her hurtful words, which I'd pushed to the back of my mind for so long. "That I'd taken vows of obedience before God, and that I needed to live up to them. That I was 'lucky' that 'a man as respectable as Dickie Orr' wanted me. And that I needed to 'grow up' and make him the kind of wife he expected me to be. So I went back to him."

"Babe." His voice was low and filled with pain for me.

"I never told my mother what he'd tried to do; obviously whatever it was didn't matter in the least to her. What mattered was keeping my marriage together so that the Burg didn't think she'd raised a daughter who couldn't hold onto a man." I was unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice, even now. "But I told the bastard that if he ever tried it again, I'd kill him. And I moved into the guest room that same night, and kept my door locked."

"Proud of you, Babe."

"For what? I told you: I went back to him."

"You had nowhere else to go, did you?"

"No. I had no job. He'd made me quit my salesgirl job at Macy's when we got married. And Mary Lou--my best friend since grammar school--she was pregnant with her first baby, so I couldn't go sleep on her sofa. And I couldn't afford a lawyer or a place of my own. So I sucked it up, and I stayed with Dickie. But I never trusted him again. Even when--"

"When what?"

"A week or two later, when it was clear to him I wasn't going to sleep with him again, he wanted to go see Father McNamara. Our parish priest. Dickie wanted us to get counseling. He said he wanted us to save our marriage, that he loved me. And he knew I loved him. That he was sorry he 'upset' me. That I was probably just 'nervous'. Or PMSing. But whatever the reason was, he said, he wanted us to be husband and wife again."

"And you went?"

"Yeah. I went. Stupid me, right? I mean, Dickie knew damned well I wasn't going to tell Father McNamara what the real argument was about. So instead he made up some story about how 'shy' I was about sexual relations. Which Father McNamara thought was just wonderful…what a good Catholic girl I was! He assumed I was…you know…a virgin before Dickie and I got married. Which I wasn't, thanks to Joe Morelli and that whole thing at the Tasty Pastry when I was 16." I laughed hollowly, "Evidently Father McNamara didn't hang out at Mario's Sub Shop, so he didn't get a chance to read the glowing reviews Morelli left for my performance."

Carlos said nothing, but I could feel the anger radiating off his body in waves.

"So…long story short. Father McNamara told me to trust my husband, that God intended the Sacrament of Marriage to provide for a man to introduce a woman into the joys of the flesh for the procreation of our race…yadda, yadda, yadda. Back home we went. Dickie was beaming ear to ear. And I got a call no more than an hour later from my mother wanting to know why I felt the need to 'humiliate' her in front of all her friends and neighbors by admitting to Father McNamara that I was such a failure as a woman that I needed to be told how to be a good wife."

"I don't know what to say to that, Babe." His voice was shell-shocked. "What about your father? Where was he in all this?"

"My father pretty much stays out of things. Always has. He doesn't say very much," I shrugged, "My mother does enough talking for both of them. He didn't know what was going on, though. I didn't tell him about….it. How could I? God knows what my mother told him the problems were between me and Dickie. But he just asked me once--a few days after I'd found Dickie fucking Joyce Barnhardt on my dining room table--whether or not Dickie'd ever made me happy at all in our marriage. I said no. And he held me really close and he said 'I'm sorry, Pumpkin. I should have done something sooner. Please forgive me.' Then he told me he'd pay for my divorce lawyer and that I could move back home for as long as I wanted to stay. And he told me he'd make certain that my mother didn't keep up the non-stop pressure on me to go back to Dickie."

"Did she? You told me about her buying you cookbooks and cookware and all of that--"

"She tried a few times, but I wasn't in the mood to listen to any of it--I was too angry. And my father stepped in, just as he'd promised me he would, and they had a hell of a row. First and only time I remember them arguing the whole 29 years they've been married. And that was the end of that: no more Dickie Orr pimping. Then I filed for divorce--didn't ask for a dime of alimony, either. I didn't want a damn thing from that bastard; I was just lucky I wasn't pregnant. And then I got a job buying lingerie at EE Martin, and saved up some money and finally got my own apartment. And Rex. My hamster."

"The Mighty Beast Protector of Your Planet."

"That's my fella."

"I'm sorry, Babe. I shouldn't have pushed it."

"You didn't push anything," I assured him, "I wouldn't have told you if I didn't want you to know."

"Not that," he said softly, "I meant, pushing for you to let me--"

"Don't you dare," I interrupted, "Do not even try comparing yourself with Dickie."

"You told me more than once you didn't want to do it, and I asked again anyway," he insisted, "I pressured you for it when I should have let it drop."

"The hell you did! First of all, you didn't know anything at all about my issues with Dickie and why I didn't want to--let me finish!" I hushed his protest, "It's not the same thing at all! We both agreed to put down our wildest fantasies, and the rules were that if either of us didn't want to do what the other suggested, we wouldn't have to. You gave me a few chances to say no to this one. I didn't take any of them, because I didn't want to take them. It kind of…excited me, to tell you the truth. But when you realized I wasn't into the spanking part of it, you stopped it immediately. You did, Carlos. And you didn't hurt me anyway, for crying out loud! You didn't spank me hard, we both know it. It stung a bit for a minute or so; big whoop! I've stubbed my damned toe and hurt more. And you asked me if you could do it from behind and I agreed because I trusted you not to do what he did--and I was right to trust you. And, frankly--OK, I'm gonna admit it--it was much much…much…better than I thought it would be. As witnessed by my spectacular swoon--what did you call it? That French thing?"

"Le Petit Morte. The Little Death."

"My Doomsday Orgasm." I shook my head, "So hey, so much for me suffering greatly because you were being so selfish, right? You asked, I agreed, I'm glad I agreed. Hell, I'd agree the next time too. I'm not going to admit that last part again though."

"You're not?" I saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"OK, so maybe I lied: maybe I will admit it again. Here goes: it won't upset me greatly if you suggest doing it doggie style again." I gave him a soft smile, "The truth is, I can't imagine not enjoying anything we do together, Carlos. I wanted you from the moment I met you. Then we fucked, and it was incredible. Then we talked afterwards, and it was even more incredible. Then we fucked some more, and it got even better. And we talked even more, and it got even better than that. Then we made love….and it was the best it ever could possibly get. And every time we're together, it gets even more spectacular. Are you sensing a pattern here?"

"I love you, Babe."

"I love you, too, Superman. So please don't upset me by blaming yourself for doing something wrong. Because you haven't. And you won't. I trust you. For whatever crazy reason, I did from the minute I met you. Hell, you could have been a homicidal maniac for all I knew. And I left the bar with you without telling my friends. That sort of proves I trust you, huh?"

"Proves something," he teased.

"Can we drop this, please? I don't want to waste any more of our time on Dickie Orr or my mother or the Burg or what you think you should have known or done or said…I don't want to waste a minute we have together, Carlos."

"Neither do I, Steph. Every minute I get to spend with you is like gold. More than gold. Platinum. I can't believe how lucky I am to be with you. To have found you tonight of all nights."

We both knew what he was really saying: he still expected to die on that damned mission. I wasn't going to start that discussion again, though. There was no way to win that argument. The best I'd gotten out of him earlier was his agreement to rethink his 'we have no future' mandate; I wasn't going to push it again now for fear he'd repeat his fatalistic statement. That would destroy our remaining time together, and accomplish nothing but to make both of us miserable.

So I decided to change the subject instead.

"So what's the kinkiest thing you ever did in bed? Or out?"

"Babe."

"I'm asking because I want to know! Hey! I've been kidding you all night, calling you a kinky freak. I just want to know how kinky a freak you are, Superman," I giggled, rubbing my hand on his chest, pinching his nipple to hardness.

"You've been kidding me all along? Here I thought you were serious."

"Answer the question."

"Kinda hard to top anything we did so far tonight, Babe. Particularly me as your dessert bar."

"That's dodging the question."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"I noticed, all right. Clearly you have a lot of experience. Much much more than I do."

"True."

"You've been with a lot of women."

"What's this really about, Babe?"

"Is there anything you want…I mean…I want you to…I want…"

"Babe."

"I want to make you happy, Carlos. If there's anything you want me to do that I'm not doing…anything…you know….anything…."

"You make me beyond happy, Steph. You make me happier than anyone ever has or ever could. Never doubt that, Babe. You're sweet and loving and funny and smart and brave. You're beyond gorgeous. Sexy as hell. Imaginative. You're a dynamo in bed. You are this perfect combination of angel and devil: the body of a sinner with the heart and soul of a Saint."

"Saint Stephanie; that's me."

"You've given me everything I ever wanted or hoped for, Babe. And not just phenomenal sex, either. You've given me you. All of you, no holding back. No protective barriers. Total honesty. Total acceptance. The whole package, Babe. There is nothing more you can give me than you already have--absolutely nothing. Understand me?"

I nodded, blinking back tears. I knew he was speaking from his soul, and I knew it wasn't easy for him to open up to anyone. "I just---"

"No butt stuff," he said primly. Then he looked over at me; and we both laughed.

"OK," I breathed easier, "If you're sure about that.."

"And no more spanking," he said. "And no tying you up."

"Good. Suits me fine."

"We could maybe do 'the other thing' again sometime," he mimicked my voice.

"Maybe." I grinned back at him.

"It was OK."

"It was, huh? Just OK?"

"Not great, though, you understand. Just better than I thought it would be."

"Bastard."

He laughed, pulling me closer. "You're fun to tease, Babe."

"I'm glad I entertain you," I sniffed, not offended in the least.

"I don't get to laugh very much at all. I'd forgotten how good it feels. Thanks for reminding me, Babe."

"You're welcome." I smiled, happy in the knowledge that I was giving him something no other woman had. After all, he could have met any other woman tonight, and been here with her instead of me. She--whoever she was--could be in his arms right now, instead of me…

"I'd have been long gone by now, if I'd been with anyone else," he said softly.

"I said that out loud again?"

"Nah, I can read your face, Babe. You're easy to read."

"Gee, thanks." I sighed.

"Only because I'm trained to pay close attention, Babe. And because I love looking at you. Memorizing everything I can about you so I can remember every single detail of you--of tonight--forever. Do you know that your eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue I've ever seen? Like the Caribbean Ocean on a sunny day. Just as much depth in there, too. They give you away every time." He stroked my hair tenderly, and took a deep breath, "I told you when we first met that I'd done this type of thing before. And I have--lots of times. In lots of cities over the years. But not this part of it, Babe. Not what we've done tonight. What we've shared. I meant, just picking up a woman for a few hours, spending the time fucking her and then leaving and never looking back. Just physical, that's all. No talking, no joking, no laughing. No cuddling afterwards."

"Really?"

"Really. I wouldn't have asked any questions about her. About her life, her family, her friends. Because it wouldn't have mattered to me. And I wouldn't have shared anything about myself with her, either. Nothing, Babe."

"You wouldn't have played the game with her?"

He smiled, "Hell, no! I made that one up just for you: I wanted to know what got you hot, what you always wanted a man to do….so I could be the man to give you all of it. I wanted you to remember me."

"You're serious?" I couldn't wrap my brain around that.

"I told you before: I spotted you when you went to the bar the first time with your red-headed friend. And I checked out the competition because I wanted you--only you--from that moment on. So I sat at the bar, had another beer and waited for you to come outside again. And I had the most detailed fantasies of what I wanted to do with you when I finally got you alone."

I grinned, "Omigod! You planned them all out when you were sitting there waiting at the bar for me? All of them?"

"Hard to cut them down to only six, Babe." He winked, "If you'd have had any difficulty coming up with six of your own, I'd have had plenty more to suggest."

"I like that," I could feel the goofy grin back on my face. "You never played this game with anyone else ever?"

"Never have, never will. Just with my Babe. And before you ask: I've never called any other woman 'Babe' either. I usually stick to 'honey' or 'sweetheart'."

"Why'd you call me Babe?"

"You looked in the mirror lately, Steph?"

"Come on! I'm not a dog, but I'm nothing special. You could have any woman you want."

"Probably," he admitted honestly, "But the point is, from the moment I first saw you, you were the only one I wanted. By far. You got to me, Steph--you blew all the other women right out of the water. That's not a line, either. It's the God's honest truth. No, it wasn't love at first sight. But it was definitely lust at first sight--and some indescribable something more that no other woman had ever made me feel. No, Steph: no other woman would have gotten into my bed tonight. If you hadn't agreed, I'd have still been downstairs working like hell to get you interested in saying yes. And I wouldn't have quit trying until I did."

I bit my lip, hearing the sincerity of his words. "Wow! Who knew?"

He smiled, then kissed my forehead gently. "Who knew, indeed? And trust me: you're worth however long I'd have had to spend to get you here, Babe. Hours and hours and hours and hours."

"You know what Dickie said when I told him I wanted a divorce?" I'd never told anyone this: it had hurt too much. And I hadn't been quite sure I didn't believe it--until tonight.

"What did the prick say, Babe?"

"He told me I was a frigid bitch. And that I was a lousy lay. And that to get off when he was fucking me, he had to imagine I was any other woman."

I'd have expected any other reaction from Carlos but the one I got: he laughed out loud! I looked at him in stunned disbelief.

"Babe! You didn't--please tell me you didn't fall for that old chestnut!" He shook his head in amazement, "Steph! You didn't!"

I shrugged. "But--but--"

"If you were frigid why the hell would the bastard want to stay married to you? Hell, for that matter, why would he have wanted to marry you in the first place? Or stay in your bed so desperately that he'd haul you to a priest for counseling because you refused to sleep with him?"

"I don't know why Dickie did anything."

"Because Dickie--shit, I still can't believe a grown man calls himself Dickie--wanted to pay you back for walking out on his pathetic worthless ass. So he blamed you for his shortcomings, and tried to mess with your head so you'd stay with him instead of getting the hell out of a God-awful miserable marriage to a worthless piece of shit who isn't man enough to treat his woman the way she deserves to be treated. You aren't frigid, Babe. Anything but! Even your bakery buddy the poet knew that much. And I'll let you in on another secret: Dickie would kill to have you back in his bed. Any man would--don't doubt that, either. Frigid! Shit! That's the oldest line in the world. I just can't believe you actually fell for it."

"You make me feel so good about myself, Carlos."

"You should feel good, Babe: you're an amazing woman. In every possible way. That you have even a doubt in your mind about that is what's really sad. And for that I blame your mother. I don't want to upset you by insulting her…but I have to say this much: she's just damned good and lucky she isn't around now for me to have a few words with. Wait! She's not going to this wedding thing tomorrow, is she?"

"No."

"Too bad. I'd have loved to stop in and have a little chat with her about insulting my woman."

"That's sweet. But she means well."

"No, actually, Steph, she doesn't. She's been undermining your self-confidence for years, and you've been sucking it up and letting her. Doubting yourself. Fighting a battle to stay true to yourself despite her…you wouldn't even have married the bastard if she hadn't pushed it. Isn't that true?"

I sighed. "Yeah. But that wasn't her fault, it was mine."

"It partly was. You need to learn to tell her to stay the hell out of your life, Steph. Don't let her pressure you or guilt trip you into settling for anything less than what you want. You. Not your mother. It's your life, Babe. Life's too damned short to live it according to someone else's rules. I learned that the hard way."

"Now there's a story I want to hear."

Carlos sighed. "Let's just say that your mother and my father would get along very well."

"Tell me? Please?"

"Babe."

"I'm a good listener."

"I know you are." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I told you I have an older brother Alejandro. Three years older than me. And he's the apple of my father's eye. Always was, always will be. Alex can do no wrong. Not ever. He's perfect in every way there is."

"Like Valerie." I started tracing circles on his chest, completely wrapped up in his story.

"Yeah, Babe. Like your sister. Believe me, I understand exactly how you feel. I'm second generation Cuban-American. My father was an only child; his parents came over from Cuba when Castro took power. My grandfather started his own small business here, and my father was trained to follow in his footsteps. And when Alex and I came along, we were expected to step in and do the same. Do our duty. Make the family proud. Same with my sisters to some extent, but they were female. They'd grow up and marry, they wouldn't carry on the family name. So they didn't get the kind of pressure Alex and I did. From the time we were in grammar school, it was drilled into us what we were meant to do with our lives. What our future was going to be. Alex was fine with that; I wasn't. I hated the thought of it, and I wasn't shy about saying so. I didn't want that kind of life--too boring, too predictable. I wanted to be Superman, and save the world. So I rebelled. God, did I ever! I told you I got into every kind of trouble you could think of. Well, I wasn't exaggerating, Babe. You name it, I did it. Got into a gang, almost got killed in a knife fight one evening. Ended up in Juvie hall. My grandfather disowned me over that little episode; my father told me I was a disgrace to his name and kicked me out of the house for good. For the longest time the only ones who even spoke to me were my mother and my grandmother. Even my four sisters were totally disgusted by my conduct. Looking back now, I can't really say that I blame them."

"Carlos!" I saw the pain in his eyes, and he continued his story, lost in the past.

"After that, I went to live with my mother's sister and her family. By some miracle, I avoided going to jail--or getting myself killed. Then one of my closest friends died in a drive-by shooting, and I decided to get out of that gang life before I died too. So I pulled myself together, dropped out of school and joined the Army. I needed the discipline; I wanted the adventure. So it worked out well on both counts. I loved it, Steph. I felt like I belonged there. And I was good--I am good--at my job."

"I know you are," I had no doubts about that at all. Carlos was a strong man; a born leader.

"I got training, I got to travel, to see the world. I made friends and they saw the me I always wanted to be--Superman. They accepted me as I was. I felt like I had a purpose in life: I was doing what I wanted to do, and I didn't have to compromise my dreams to do it."

"What about your family? Are you still..?" I didn't quite know how to ask the question without opening up old wounds.

"I was on leave visiting friends when I got a phone call from my mother. My grandfather had died of a heart attack on the job; he and I had never spoken again after he'd disowned me."

"I'm so sorry!" I hugged him closely, blinking back tears.

"Don't be, Babe. It was his choice, that's how he grew up: Old World. After all, I'd shamed his family in front of all of his friends and neighbors. Anyway, my grandmother told her son that enough damage had been done. Enough years had been wasted. She demanded he lift my banishment. She ordered me home for my grandfather's funeral, and I came. That time in the Army had changed me, Babe. In my father's eyes, that was a good thing. In my eyes, it was too: because I honestly didn't care whether or not he was willing to accept me. I knew who I was and what I was and what I wanted. And I knew I'd done the right thing to walk away from the life he'd wanted to push me into. Alex seemed happy; I'd have been completely miserable. I'd have been as good as dead in that kind of job. Anyway, we started the healing that day. Slowly. Very slowly. Four years ago, and we've come a long way since then. Alex and I finally started talking, and we worked out a lot of issues that had stood between us from the time we were children. Old resentments--on both sides."

"What was his problem with you?" I glared, "He had it good!"

"Not as much as I'd thought, Babe," Carlos said softly, "Turns out, when he finally opened up, he wasn't all that fine with things, after all. He liked the business, he could live that way. But it wasn't how he would have preferred to live. He just didn't want to anger my father and my grandfather. To disappoint them by turning his back on what they'd spent their lives building. I realized that I'd resented him for being the Golden Child, when in actuality, it was more of a curse than a blessing for him."

"He didn't have to do what he did; he could have stood up to them, like you did." I argued.

"He could have," Carlos agreed, "And there would have been even more damage done to the family than was already done by my walking away. He did what he thought best. I did what I thought I needed to. We both made choices; hopefully they were the best choices for each of us. I guess we'll never know for sure until the last card is dealt. He's got a good woman and three healthy happy kids. And I---"

He trailed off. I knew what he was thinking. He didn't have a family of his own; he never would. He would go to war again come Monday, and he'd die for his country.

"It doesn't have to be that way," I whispered. "You don't know what the future holds, Carlos. No one does."

There was a long silence, and he held me closer and ran his fingers gently up and down my arm.

"I love you, Babe."

"I love you, too."

"So…."

"So?"

"So what are we going to do about it?" he asked softly, more to himself than to me.

That was the real question, wasn't it? What the hell were we going to do?

Damned if I knew…