A/N: This deals with a topic that may be sensitive for some readers. The show is (understandably) vague about all of this, but I think two people who hope to build something together can't afford to be.

Ch 4 – Cardinal Sin (3)

At dinner, Tony and Angela shared their table with Mike, Pam, and Davey, but thankfully not with Burl. Betty was nowhere to be seen, either. Instead, they were joined by another one of Tony's old teammates – Jeffrey (with a J) –, and by a middle-aged couple who introduced themselves as Jim and Helen.

Most table talk revolved around people and events that Angela had never heard of before, but she didn't mind. It was a welcome change of pace, actually. Usually when she went to events like this, it was for business reasons and she had an agenda: make the rounds, introduce herself to potential new clients, schmooze some bigwig so he would sign with her agency. Tonight, she enjoyed taking a back seat to Tony, listening to the stories he and the others told, and learning what life after professional baseball looked like for everybody.

Davey had gotten his coaching license and had recently been hired as an assistant coach for the Houston Astros. He and his wife were expecting their first child early next year. Mike and Pam were both realtors and lived outside of Cincinnati. As a chiropractor to the stars, Jeffrey had a flourishing practice in Los Angeles. Jim had played for the Cardinals a few years before Tony and was now teaching high school in Phoenix, where Helen worked as a nurse.

When it was his turn, Tony talked about his experiences in college, most significantly the speech on support for student athletes in front of the oratorical society, and about his responsibilities as President of the Fairfield Parents' Association. Angela couldn't have been prouder of him, and this time it was her hand that reached for his below the table.

If it hadn't been for this connection anchoring her to their table, Angela suspected that she might have just floated away sometime between the main course and dessert. She felt lighter than she had in months. Maybe it was because of their kiss in the bathroom door, maybe it was the wine. Probably both.

After dinner, the Redbirds Nation representative, a stout man in his 40s, invited the guests to the conference room next door, where a photo exhibit had been set up. On display were pictures from the club's own archives, material on loan from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and many new submissions by former players and fans.

Angela and Tony strolled through the exhibit together and looked at photos taken at games and during training, on various buses and planes, in hotels and everywhere in between. There weren't many pictures of Tony – his time with the Cardinals having been relatively short – but those that they did discover were true gems.

Tony as part of the starting lineup for a game against the Mets at Shea Stadium in 1975. Tony getting off the team bus wearing a tight red t-shirt, denim bellbottoms, and Aviator shades. Tony leaning against a chain-link fence, talking to a group of teenagers. Tony in the batter's box, bat raised and brow furrowed, waiting for the pitch. Tony and Davey in dirt-streaked uniforms, arm in arm, making victory signs at the camera.

At first, Angela couldn't stop herself from ooh-ing and aah-ing. He looked so young and carefree; it was easy to imagine the boy he must have been.

Tony's reaction was more subdued. He smiled whenever she pointed out one of the photos, but Angela got the impression that it was mostly for her benefit. His mood was pensive, and why wouldn't it be. The hopes and dreams he must have had for himself and for his little family when these photos were taken! What if Marie hadn't died? And if he hadn't hurt his shoulder? Would he have made it big?

Angela toned it down a little bit and continued to walk slowly past the photo walls, not noticing at first that Tony wasn't next to her anymore He had stopped a ways back in front of a large-format print that showed a group of people at what looked like a barbecue.

"4th of July," he said when she returned to his side. "They had this big shindig in '76, for the Bicentennial."

She leaned in. "Where are you?"

"On the right, by the picnic tables."

Angela squinted. There he was, with his arms around a petite, dark-haired woman.

"Marie?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Sam looks so much like her, doesn't she?"

"More every day."

Angela had only ever seen a handful of photos of Marie: the small one in the locket that Tony gave Samantha for her 13th birthday, the framed picture of Marie and Samantha at Christmas that sat on Sam's nightstand, and the photo from Nick Milano's estate, of Tony and Marie – still teenagers themselves – bringing baby Samantha home from the hospital.

The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking, and indeed growing stronger as Sam got older. Angela wondered sometimes if it was difficult for Tony to see his late wife in their daughter, or if he found it comforting.

"You must miss her terribly," she said on an impulse. "Marie, I mean."

Tony gave her a wistful smile. "Always. It never goes away."

"I'm sorry."

"But that doesn't mean I'm not happy."

Their eyes met, and Angela's heart squeezed. "I'm glad," she said, holding his gaze for a while longer. Then they both looked away at the same time, back at the barbecue photo.

In the space of less than a year, Tony had lost everything. His wife, Samantha's mother, his future in baseball. The tragedy of it all was unfathomable, really. But it was also the foundation of her own greatest happiness, Angela realized, and it gave her a pang of guilt.

"Hey, Angela?" Tony touched her elbow.

"Hm?" She snapped back to the present.

"I think I'm done looking at photos for tonight. Do you want to go dance a little? They have a band," he suggested with a hopeful lift of his brow.

Of course she wanted to dance with him.

ooooooooo

As they crossed through the first-floor lobby, Angela thought back to the last time they had danced together – this summer, when Tony recreated her senior prom in their living room.

Looking back, it was astonishing that things between them stayed more or less platonic that night. The Tahitian Twilight setup was the sweetest gesture, and what started out as dancing soon evolved into cuddling to music while standing upright. They swayed in each other's arms for what felt like hours, Tony's fingers hooked under the belt of her bathrobe, his breath on her skin as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his heartbeat reverberating in her chest as she snuggled ever deeper into his embrace. Oh, how she had wished that he would make some kind of move.

The bar was crowded, and a handful of couples were dancing to the music that a jazz combo was playing in a corner of the room. Tony led Angela onto the small dancefloor and brought his right hand to rest on her waist while her left found the space between his shoulder blades.

Dancing lessons with Michael prior to their wedding had marked an early low point in their relationship. They constantly stepped on each other's toes, one misreading the signs of the other, and got into petty arguments over who was out of tact or who had or hadn't memorized the steps correctly.

It was completely different with Tony. Their bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces, they had from day one. Or, technically, from their first Christmas on, when they danced together to Tony's father's big band albums. He was an excellent leader, conveying his next moves to her via the most subtle cues that she knew how to follow as if by some mysterious instinct. She could only imagine what things between them would be like when they finally did what Philly Fingers had once not-so-delicately referred to as 'the horizontal mambo'.

"What's so funny?" Tony asked, his mouth close to her ear.

"I just remembered something Philly Fingers once asked me."

He pulled back slightly. "What'd he ask?!"

She let the tip of her tongue peek out from between her lips for the briefest of moments before answering, enjoying the wary look on his face. "He wanted to know if we ever … danced together."

Predictably, this got Tony even more interested. "How is that any of Philly's business?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later."

"What if I want to know now?" His hand gave her hip a playful squeeze, and she laughed.

"It was all very innocent. He was just trying to be a good friend to you."

"Uh-huh," Tony mumbled and drew her closer again. "I guess I can let this slide for now. But you better be prepared to answer me later."

Angela giggled and rested her cheek against his. She let herself be carried along by the music as the band played song after song and Tony navigated them around the dancefloor.

"I could do this all night," he said after a while. "But we have a whole suite upstairs, and I saw that 'The Way We Were' is on cable." While he was speaking, he let his thumb graze the bare skin of her back.

"Oh, I love that movie," she sighed.

"You too?"

"Always have."

"Then what do you say? We can order a bottle of something for the room." His thumb was still on her back, gently caressing, giving her goosebumps.

"That sounds lovely. But are you sure you don't want to stay down here? You have barely talked to your friends." It was an old reflex, wanting to make absolutely sure he didn't feel obligated to spend time with her.

Tony shrugged. "I can still talk to them tomorrow. Besides, we said we were going to try and talk this weekend. And then I need to rest up for the big game." At that, he chuckled. "Hey, listen to me. I sound like an Old Timer."

Angela leaned back a little, pretending to scrutinize him. "I don't know. You look pretty youthful to me. Especially next to some of these other guys. You still have most of your hair, too," she teased.

"What do you mean, 'most'?" Tony looked at her, comically alarmed, as if she had just told him he was developing a bald spot.

"Well, in some of the old photos you had a lot more of it." Angela smiled and reached up into the short hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying its silky feel beneath her fingertips and the play of Tony's muscles under his skin.

He exhaled and hugged her to him again. "Don't ever scare me like that again!"

"I'm sorry," she said, even though she wasn't. It was adorable how sensitive he was when it came to his appearance, and especially his hair. More than once she had caught him looking at himself in the living room mirror while he was thoroughly 'cleaning' it.

"And anyway," he came back at her. "It was the 70s. If memory serves, you were quite the flower child yourself."

Now she gave him a questioning look.

"In the movie," he explained. "The one on the beach, with your dress, and your- well, your hair. You had very long hair."

"I suppose I did."

Angela remembered sitting next to him on the couch, watching the movie. Her initial embarrassment at him seeing her like that, seven months pregnant, a good 25 pounds heavier, frolicking on the beach with Michael. But Tony thought she was beautiful, and she remembered feeling beautiful back then, too – for the first time in many years. It made her proud that her body, her own worst enemy throughout adolescence and young adulthood, was able to do this, that it could grow this baby and give it everything it needed.

"Mhm," Tony hummed against her cheek. "So, should we get out of here?"

Angela was just about to tell him yes when someone tapped on her shoulder. Surprised, she turned around and saw – Betty. She was standing next to them on the dancefloor, wearing the same red dress as earlier in the day, along with a broad smile that brought out dimples in both of her cheeks.

"Mind if I cut in?" she asked and held out her hand to Tony. "For old times' sake? I requested our song."

As if on cue, the current song ended and a new one began. It featured a very distinctive saxophone, and while Angela had heard the melody before, she couldn't quite place it.

Tony gave an odd laugh. "Betty. Uh – I hung up my dancing shoes a long time ago."

"Oh? Doesn't look like that to me." She gestured at the two of them, coming off the dancefloor as they were speaking.

"Only where this song is concerned," he clarified.

"I see." Betty didn't bother to hide her disappointment. "No exceptions?"

"Ah, no. I'm sorry." Tony was outwardly calm, but the tips of his ears had turned flaming red.

"Not anymore, huh?" Betty winked. "That's a shame. You know I only dance to this song with you."

"Listen, Betty … I already told you this morning, I'm-"

"I know, I know," Betty raised her hands in an admission of defeat. "You're spoken for. But can you blame a girl for trying?" Then she shifted her gaze to Angela. "Congratulations, by the way. You got yourself some guy. But I guess I don't have to tell you that." She smiled, and it felt genuine.

"Have a nice night," Betty said over her shoulder as she turned on her heel and walked off in the direction of the bar.

"Yeah, you too," Tony said tonelessly.

"What was that?" Angela asked, perplexed by what she had just witnessed.

Tony ran a hand through his hair. "We used to dance to this song."

The implication was clear and didn't exactly surprise Angela. It was much more disconcerting how the somewhat suggestive, but ultimately harmless exchange with Betty seemed to have knocked Tony so completely off balance.

"That's what I gathered. But … are you alright?"

He cleared his throat and shook his head. "Yeah, I just – the song takes me back."

"Let's go upstairs, okay?" she suggested.

"Yeah," he agreed and took her hand again. His palm was sweaty against hers as they walked towards the elevators, and a dull sense of foreboding put Angela's stomach in knots.

ooooooooo

Tony unlocked the door to the suite and gestured for her to enter first. Angela went inside and switched on the light.

"What should we get?" He asked as he walked past her towards the phone on the little table next to the sofa. "Bottle of red?"

She nodded her approval and slipped out of her heels with a silent sigh. The first barefoot steps on the carpet always felt heavenly.

After his call to room service, Tony excused himself to the bathroom. He had begun to relax a little on the elevator ride up to their floor, and Angela thought that maybe it was just one of those things – there were certain people who would throw you for a loop when you saw them again, no matter how far in the past your connection was. If Brian Thomas were to show up, for example. Even though their Las Vegas marriage and the post-haste Mexican annulment were ancient history, and she didn't think about him with great frequency, she was sure that his presence would stir something in her.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the wine. Angela accepted the bottle and two glasses and tipped the waiter. Then she set everything down on the coffee table and picked up the remote control.

She had just found the right channel when Tony emerged from the bathroom. He had taken off his sports coat and loosened his tie. Angela loved seeing him in his shirtsleeves, looking so strong and somehow vulnerable at the same time. With a small smile, he joined her by the sofa.

"We only missed the first two minutes or so," she said, gesturing at the television.

"That's good." Tony inspected the label on the red wine and poured them each a glass. "Here you go."

"Thank you."

"To us?" he said shyly, as if offering her an apology.

"To us."

They clinked glasses and looked each other in the eye for the first time since their return to the suite. Angela took a large sip. Warmth began to pool in her chest, and it wasn't just from the wine. Maybe all was not lost for tonight.

Tony sat down on the sofa and put his right arm up on the back rest. When Angela sat next to him and leaned back, he slowly let his arm come down around her shoulders. She wanted nothing more than to relax into his embrace but found it difficult. Now in such close proximity to Tony, she could sense that something was not right. He was nervous, and not in the way somebody might be nervous on a date. She knew him well enough to determine that this went deeper. Should she ask him about it? But she didn't want to push in case he didn't want to talk about it. Then again, wasn't that why they were here?

The minutes ticked by, and on the screen Katie and Hubbell met and lost touch and met again. Angela reached for her wine glass. When she settled back against Tony, he finally spoke up.

"Angela?"

"Mhm?"

"I think I owe you an explanation. Do you mind if we turn the TV off?" He was already aiming the remote.

"No, go ahead."

The television went dark, and he took his arm off her shoulders.

"I wanted us to have a nice night. You know, dinner, dancing, the movie, some more … talking."

"I'm having a very nice night."

"Yeah, and I'm about to ruin it." The look on his face could only be described as tortured, and Angela's heart began to beat faster.

"What do you mean?"

He cleared his throat. "First, let me say again how happy I am that you came along. It's got to be … interesting to meet some of these people. You know. The guys, they're the guys. Some of them haven't changed much." He gave her a look.

So he had noticed that she wasn't exactly fond of Burl.

"Oh, they're nice," she said with a small smile. "I like Davey and Mike. And Pam. And the others. Alright, maybe not Burl," she admitted.

"Yeah, Burl." Tony snorted. "He deflected the ball with his head a couple too many times."

She nodded. This was all still part of the overture. Whatever Tony really wanted to talk about would come next. He shifted in his seat anxiously, leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, kneading his fingers – signs that he was gearing up for something. Angela put her glass back on the table.

Tony took a deep breath. "Uh, and then there's Betty."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," she tried nonsensically. Of course she wanted him to explain.

"I know. But I want to."

"Okay. I'm listening." Angela leaned forward as well, her heart now in her throat.

Tony avoided her gaze as he spoke, instead staring straight ahead at the coffee table or at his hands. "Women like Betty … they used to be all over you back in the day. Waiting outside the stadium, or in the parking lot. They'd come to spring training, and they'd track you down at the hotel."

He halted, but Angela didn't say anything.

"And then they'd hang around the bar, and you'd get to talking, and there'd be drinks, and dancing, and then you would do … other things." Tony threw her a quick look now, and she knew where this was going.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I swear, I wish I didn't have to tell you this now."

"Tony, you don't-"

"No, I kind of do," he cut her off. "This is – if I don't do it now, I probably never will. But if you're – if we're going to … become anything, you need to know. I want you to know." He looked at her almost pleadingly.

"Okay." There was an intensity to the way he spoke that was new to her, and Angela began to feel shaky from adrenaline.

"I was on the road so much, and Marie and Sam were back east, and sometimes it was just really hard to be a good person." Tony's voice cracked and he fell silent again.

"Does that mean you …"

"Cheated on my wife?" Tony finished the sentence and looked at her with a vacant expression on his face. All she could do was nod.

"I came pretty close a couple of times. With Betty. And with others. We never – you know. Not while Marie was alive, anyway. But that doesn't make it okay." He blinked rapidly and clicked his tongue. "I loved her, Angela. Like I never loved anyone until- But I was an idiot, too. And a complete ass of a husband."

Listening to him unburden himself like that, Angela felt hollow, as if someone had punched her in the gut. Tony looked at her again, still expressionless, and she held his gaze, unsure what to say or do.

"When Marie first got sick, I didn't believe her. Did I ever tell you that?"

She shook her head no.

Tony continued in a throaty voice. "She had all these symptoms. You know, unspecific. Like cramps, and backaches, and she was tired a lot. But I thought, I don't know – maybe she's pregnant again, or it's just … female stuff. I was gone all the time, and I figured she wanted to get my attention. She told me again and again, but I didn't take her seriously. Then she went to all these quack doctors, but nobody found anything."

"Tony, ovarian cancer is notoriously difficult to diagnose. Everybody knows that." It was true, she had read articles about it.

"And when this one doctor – when he finally figured it out, it was too late. It was everywhere. And I can't help but think, if I'd listened to her, really listened, I could have tried to get her seen by better doctors, and sooner."

Tony's shoulders began to tremble, and Angela realized that in more than four years of living under the same roof, she had never once seen him cry.

She moved closer to him and began to stroke his back in slow circular motions. "You were both so young. You couldn't have known."

"It was hell," Tony said through tears, "seeing her sick like that, watching her die. And all this time knowing what I'd done."

Angela leaned in and touched her forehead to his temple as she spoke. "Tony, Marie knew that you loved her very much. I'm sure of that. And she loved you, and she knew that you weren't perfect. Nobody is. You're human, and yes, what you did was wrong, and you know it. But it had nothing to do with what happened to Marie."

"I wanted it to be me." Tony pressed his fingers into his eyes and sobbed like she had never heard a man sob before. Angela continued to stroke his back while he cried, and for a long time neither of them said another word.

Eventually, Tony's breathing began to even out, and he inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to regain control.

"Jeez, I'm sorry, Angela," he said, his voice still thick with tears.

"Don't be," she said quietly, "I'm glad you told me."

"Yeah, now you know what a class act I am," he scoffed.

They were still leaning against each other, and despite the unflattering truths she had just learned about Tony, Angela had never felt closer to him, and never more sure that she loved him with all her heart.

"I think being a good person doesn't mean that you never make mistakes. I think it means that you learn from them. That you try to become better and do what's right. And you've come so far, Tony. You can be proud of that. I'm proud of you."

He wiped his eyes and sniffled. "I'm so glad you're here, Angela."

The only response that made sense to her was to change her angle a little bit so she could press a kiss to his cheek. But Tony began to turn towards her at the same time, and the kiss ended up landing on the corner of his mouth.

What had been intended as a comforting gesture turned into something else almost immediately. Greedily, Tony pushed his tongue past her lips, and she tasted everything at once, desire and desperation, love and regret. Soon, one of his hands was on her ribcage, big and warm and sliding upwards. The other one moved to her leg and under the fabric of her dress. Caught up in the moment, she wanted him to touch her like that, even though it was the absolute worst time for any of this.

Gradually, they sank back onto the sofa. Tony's body was pleasantly heavy on top of hers, and she sensed that he would devour her right then and there if she let him. In fact, she almost had a mind to allow it, so awash was she in the intensity of his emotions and her own reaction to them. When he began to suck on the sensitive skin in the hollow of her throat, Angela felt her bones turn to jello. The last vestiges of reason were threatening to slip away from her – they had to stop right now or live with the consequences.

"Tony," she gasped and stilled his head with her hands. "Tony."

"What?" he came up for air and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

Still breathing heavily, she pushed herself back into a seated position. "I think we should put the movie back on."

Tony sat back on the sofa, discreetly adjusting his pants in the process. "You're right, you're right."

Angela made an effort to catch his eye. "It's not that I don't want to. Just … not like this, okay?" she said and caressed his cheek. "We've had a long day. And you need your strength for the game tomorrow. Sam will be disappointed if you don't make that hit, or bat, or – whatever," she tried to lighten the mood a little.

"Yeah," he agreed. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong. I just sprung all this stuff on you, and now I'm making it worse."

"No, you're not." She took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers.

"Over the years, I've sort of learned to push it all away, I guess. But being here with you, seeing everybody, seeing Betty ... It's a lot. And I didn't want to lie to you."

"I appreciate that."

He sighed. "And I would understand if this … changes things for you."

It took Angela a couple of seconds to formulate a response. She wanted to be truthful, and so she had to ask herself one more time – how did she feel about what he had just told her?

Cheating was serious, and it didn't matter whether it was kissing or sex or just holding hands. It was betrayal, all of it. And yet she understood how it could happen if you let it. She had been tempted during her marriage to Michael, on business trips with smart, funny co-workers who bought her drinks at the hotel bar. And after her divorce she had been a willing participant, or almost-participant, consciously ignoring the fact that Grant Paxton was not only her boss, but also married. Unhappily, according to him, but still: married.

She squeezed Tony's hand. "Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me."

"Yes, of course."

"Good. Because I want to trust you, too. And if you tell me that I can, I will. And that'll be that."

"You can. Always." His brown eyes bore into hers, and she knew that he meant it.

"Okay then."

"Thank you." He was close to tearing up again. "I really don't know what I'd do without you, Angela."