Notes: All right, guys. Here it is. I was sorta burned out for a while on this, but here you go. I know it's probably not what you expected, but blame The Drifters and Otis Redding. It practically wrote itself, really. Let me know what you think, please! The song is "I've been Loving You Too Long" by Otis Redding. If you can somehow get a hold of it, I really suggest you listen to it, while you read.

Current Excuse for Feedback: Saturday was my 20th birthday! So if you haven't dropped me a line in a while, or never have, you know, feel free. I'd love you for it. It's been a heavy few days. Mostly a good heavy, but heavy nonetheless.

Also: There are a few flashbacks in the beginning, in case you're a little confused.

She's directing a play. I've never felt so proud.

Some of my friends told me I shouldn't have come, but I couldn't help myself. I love her. She's my girl, she always will be, and I love her, however much she hurt me. Seeing her tonight, looking as radiant as she did on the first day we met, I find it hard to believe it's been nearly thirteen years since Caro was born.

Liza had such a hard time with the pregnancy. She had horrible morning sickness, had to spend a good deal of the time in bed, was losing weight as opposed to gaining it. I was frantic. I was thirty years old, recently promoted, and terrified over my impending fatherhood. I was sure something would happen to Liza or the baby, constantly on edge. Liza was calmer, reassuring, and it was her life in the balance! Once Donna came to stay, I breathed a little easier, and could actually, you know, function. The talks I had with Josh may have had something to do with it, as well.

She was born six weeks early, a tiny little thing, but perfect. We were all pretty worried over her for a while, but she pulled through. Liza had a rougher time. She was so weak for so long afterwards. She was happy, though. She doted on Caro, and I doted on them both, and for a while, things were perfect. When she got pregnant again shortly before Caro's fourth birthday, we were concerned, naturally, but still ecstatic. We wanted more children. But then…

"Dave!"

"Huhhh? Wha…?"

"DAVE!"

I woke up fully then, startled to reality by the note of panic in her voice. "What's wrong, sugar?"

"Oh, god, it hurts. Make it stop, please, Dave, please."

"The baby?" She nodded weakly, and I was overcome by sheer terror. "Okay. Hold on, baby, just hold on for me, okay? I just have to call someone to get Caro, all right? Stay there, don't move. I'll be right back. I love you. Everything'll be fine, okay?"

But I knew things weren't fine, as soon as I saw the doctor's tired, sorrowful face.

"She lost it," I stated, and the doctor nodded. "Can I see her?" Without waiting for an answer, I rushed into the room.

She looked so small, so fragile, so exhausted. That spirit that always shined in her eyes, even through that long, hard time with Caro, was completely gone, for the first time.

"Hi, sugar," I said softly.

"The baby, Dave. The baby." She ended on a wail, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. I was too choked up and tearful myself to answer, so I just wrapped her in a hug, and we cried together.

Things were bad for a long time after that; she was listless, apathetic. She put on a good front for Caro, but I knew she was pretending. I tried everything. I listened, I tried to spark her appetite with her favorite foods, I got her and Caro the kittens they had always wanted, I drove her to a therapist near the base every weekend. Finally, I called in reinforcements. Family. Donna and Josh, Sandy and Darrah and their son, Danny. Sandy has his own comic strip own column, and Darrah's a personal chef, so it wasn't too hard for them to relocate for a while. Norah and Phil flew in with Adi and Miri as often as they could. Donna fussed over her, Darrah cooked, and Josh generally just tried to annoy her, to get a rise out of her. She began to get intensely involved in campaigning for Derek Thomas, the Democratic nominee for president at the time. I was so happy to see her excited about something I brushed off the disparaging comments from some of my fellow officers. In retrospect, I wish I hadn't.

We went to a party one weekend, and the liquor was flowing. We circulated, and then stopped for a while to speak with my best friend, Nick. That's when it happened.

They were talking in a group, and they were drunk. "Morgan's little wife's been campaigning for that Thomas prick. Took me nearly two hours to get Jenny to calm down after his wife came talking. God, why can't she just stay home and punch out kids like the rest of them?"

Liza turned so pale I thought she might faint. Then she turned and ran. I shoved the bastard against the wall and snarled at him. I would have punched him; I wanted to wipe that drunken smirk off his face with my fist. If it hadn't been for Nick's restraining hand on my shoulder, I would have.

She never really came back to me after that. She was so quiet, so distant. She became more serious after the babies, sure, but this was too quiet. Then, a week later, she left. Really left.

I'd gone into the kitchen to put on the coffee like always, and found her sitting there, surrounded by luggage.

"Liza?"

"I was going to leave, without saying anything, write a note, but then I knew I couldn't. I couldn't do that to you. Dave. I'm leaving."

I felt as though I'd been run over by a truck, and I couldn't find my voice. "Liza-"

"Don't say anything, Dave. It won't do any good. I have to do this. I need to figure myself out, and I can't do it here."

"We'll move…I'll get out of the service…just please, Liza…"

"Dave, no. This is what you were meant to do. You're so good at this. You're fair and just and everyone here respects you. They need you here. I'm not letting you give this up."

"It doesn't mean anything, not if you're not here, sugar."

She winced, closed her eyes as if in pain. "I can't be here, Dave. I can't. If I stay here, I'll…One of my friends from college called me a few weeks ago. He's directing a play, and he wants me to come help, maybe as Assistant Director. I want to do it. It's the first thing I've really, truly wanted for myself in a long time. So I'm going.

"Will you be back?" My voice broke, but I felt too bereft to care.

"I don't know."

"And Caro?" I shuddered at the thought of losing both of them.

She began to cry in earnest then. "She can stay with you, if that's all right. I'm not any good to her right now. Oh, God," she'd whispered, as though the full enormity of what she was doing had finally hit. Watching her, I could literally see her breaking. I stood up, went to her, and kissed her. On her forehead, face, eyelids.

"Liza. Please, don't do this. I'll help you, I promise. I…"

She drew herself up, and her resolve returned. "No, Dave. You can't fix this. Only I can, and I have to, now. It's not you, Dave. Please believe me. I'll…I'll call, to let you know where I am. Please, Dave, if you love me, don't follow. I need to do this on my own."

She put her sunglasses on then, and her hair caught the early morning sun. "Caro's up," she said. "I couldn't go without saying goodbye to her either. Please, let her see my family, Dave. Don't…don't hate them because of me, please. I'm sorry. I love you."

She was gone.

I sat at the table for a long time, and then I went upstairs to check on Caro. She'd fallen asleep again, her thumb in her mouth, her blond hair spread across the pillow. So like Liza. I cried then, watching my baby girl sleep peacefully that morning of all mornings, for the first time since my parents died.

I managed to wrangle my way into the premiere party. I'm standing against a pillar, half in shadow, just watching her.

She changed from the suit she was wearing when she went up to accept the flowers to a short black dress, that emphasizes her tan and her blue eyes. Not to mention those fabulous legs of hers. She's too thin for my liking, though. Her hair's shorter, too, curling to halfway between her chin and her shoulders.

I stiffen momentarily, as a man places a hand on her back with an easy, intimate familiarity. Her exposed back; the dress plunges halfway down it, at least.

All of a sudden, for no apparent reason, she turns slightly, and sees me. Her eyes, expertly made up, widen; although I can tell she's shaken, to the untrained eye she doesn't show it, as she excuses herself and walks gracefully across the room towards me.

My heart is beating so hard, so fast, I'm wondering why no one else notices.

From the look in her eyes, maybe Liza does.

"Dave."

"Hello, Liza."

God, his voice is still thick and soft as smoky honey, caressing my name like it always did. It still haunts me in my dreams at night, even when I seek refuge in someone else's arms. He looks as though he's drinking me in, and a lock of his dark hair falls in his eyes. I notice the slight wings of gray at his temples, and am struck by how somehow they make him even more attractive. Without thinking, I reach up to smooth it back, like I used to, and as I touch him, I feel a definite jolt of electricity. Judging from his face, he felt it too. Our eyes lock sharply, and I exhale slowly, trying to calm myself.

"You're the last person I ever expected to see here," I say inanely.

"I heard about this, and I wanted to see what you were up to. Good work, it seems. I'm proud of you, Liza-belle," he says softly.

Oh, god, why did he have to call me that? It was one of his pet names for me, the only one that made me feel even more cherished than "sugar." My eyes fill with tears, and I will myself not to lose it. I put a hand on his arm, looking up at him in silent acknowledgement.

He knows me too well. His eyes forgive me for all the things I can't, won't, say, understanding my need to check my emotions. "Ah, how's Caro?" I ask shakily.

He smiles, that wonderful, slow grin that always warmed my insides, and still does. "Beautiful. She's running track, riding. Drama, too. She's a fine actress. Gets more like her momma every day."

I bite my lip, look down. "I hope not."

He catches hold of my wrist. "Liza."

Then his eyes widen as he stares at my hand.

Oh my God. "You still wear it?" I ask, as I cradle her hand in both of mine.

She looks down. "Yes."

I chuckle shakily. "I thought, by now…Well, let's just say I live in fear of the divorce papers coming."

She's startled. "Why?" she asks incredulously, her voice ragged with tears. "Why, in God's name, would you still…"

"Because, for better or for worse, I love you. I always will."

She looks like a deer in headlights, panicky. She swirls away and exits quickly, causing people in the room to stare quizzically after her. I wait a moment, debating, and then follow.

"Liza!"

I stop, my heart breaking in slow motion, and turn to face him. "Oh, Dave, why did you have to come, why did you have to follow? It won't do any good. It's too late."

He regards me steadily. "Answer me this question: Why aren't you with someone?"

"Dave-"

"Why are you out here running away from me?" He exhales sharply. "God, Liza, you're even more beautiful than I remembered, you light up the goddamn room. I can't be the only one who's noticed. Why?"

"Because."

"Why?"

"God, will you stop asking that? Fine. They're not you, okay? That's why. God, eight years, and I still can't…I've tried and tried, but none of them ever made me forget."

"Liza." Something in his voice makes me go weak at the knees, and when I look up, he's moving towards me, and every fiber of my being tells me I should make him stop, somehow, but then he's kissing me, warm and deep, and it becomes everything.

Later, she's sound asleep, her head nestled on my chest. Otis Redding plays softly on the stereo, and as "I've Been Loving You Too Long" begins, I tighten my arms around her.

The man knows what he's talking about. "Amen, Otis. Amen."

When I wake up, she's no longer next to me. Blinking hazily, I spot her in front of the mirror, removing the traces of last night's makeup. I pull on my boxers and pad over to stand behind her. I lift her hair, nuzzling her neck and trailing light kisses across her bare shoulder. "Morning, sugar."

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and they're cloudy and grave. The happiness drains out of my body, replaced by fear.

"I'm sorry."

"For what, exactly?" I ask, and my voice sounds hollow, foreign.

She looks down. "Last night was… a mistake. I shouldn't have…let you. Encouraged. It was a mistake," she repeats.

I feel the anger simmering in my soul. "You're going to call that, the best night of my life in eight years, a mistake? Liza, what we had, it's still there. If you just gave us a chance…"

She's shaking her head, and her eyes glimmer with tears. "We can't just go back. Things are different now. I couldn't live on a base again, or that life again. I would suffocate. I love my work. I need it. And there's Caro to think about. I couldn't just waltz into her life again, as though I'd never left."

"You're her mother," I say stubbornly. "She's growing up. She needs you. With her, not just in those damn letters, packages you send."

"It's the best I can do right now."

"Oh, fuck that, Liza! You're afraid. It's not that you can't; you won't! I love you, God knows why but I do, and you have a beautiful daughter who loves you. Why…"

"That's not enough."

"Well, if it isn't," I sneer, "then I don't know what is, cause in my experience life can't get much better than that, sugar."

For the first time, "sugar" comes out sounding like a slur, and I storm angrily around the room, yanking on my clothes. "I have a plane to catch. See you in another eight years."

I don't catch my breath until I've slammed the door and run down the stairs, and then it hits me. I lean up against the wall and wrap my arms around me. I've finally, truly lost her.

I'm late.

Figures.

You saw that coming, right? I wish I had. I wish I'd been thinking at all, actually. But isn't that the way of things? Your guy walks in the room and all capacity for rational behavior vanishes. He's still my guy. But I don't know what I want to do.

I can't go back to that life, I just can't. I don't mean just the whole army…thing, although that has something to do with it.

I stop the car, take in the spacious, sunny house, the toys strewn over the yard, and smile ironically. Fifteen years ago, if you had asked our friends which one of the Lyman sisters would end up with the picture-perfect life, I would have won, hands down. But that was before life had me firmly in its clutches.

I start towards the house, and suddenly Norah's there, staring. "Liza? Oh, my god! Liza, sweetie! It's been so long!" She's running down the stairs, and sweeping me up in a giant hug. I don't think I've ever been more glad to see my big sister. "You look fabulous! Directing must agree with you!"

"You look great, too."

"Oh, stop. I'm old. I have crow's feet."

"I will not have you talking about my wife in such a manner," Phil says mock-sternly, as he appears on the porch. "Nah. Who do you think you're kidding, gorgeous? You'll never be old, Roo my love."

"You just want to get lucky."

"Is it working?"

"You bet your ass."

They're teasing, but the love between them is so palpable, I feel a sudden pain in my chest, and as I accept Phil's embrace, tears once again spring to my eyes.

"What's wrong, Tinkerbell?" Phil asks, concerned. Norah gives me a deep, searching look, and I cry harder.

"I'm pregnant," I sob. Norah puts her arms around me, and we walk into the house.

"Whose is it?"

"It's Dave's."

"I'm sorry?" She's shocked, and I don't blame her. "When did you see him?"

"He came to the opening a few months ago. I looked up, and…and he was just there, Norah, like always. Then he said…and then we were outside, and he kissed me, and I know I shouldn't have, but…"

"Wait," Norah says. "What did he say?"

"What?"

"What did he say?"

"He said…he said he still loved me."

"And what did you say?"

"I ran out, and he followed, and we ended up at my place…and the next morning I told him it was all a mistake."

"What?"

"God, Norah, you're all acting like we can just pick up where we left off. We can't. Sometimes it's not that simple."

"Sometimes it is." She sighs. "God, Liza, do you know how that man looked at you when you weren't watching? All I can say is, I hope Phil looks at me that way."

"Love isn't the issue, Norah!" I spit out vehemently. "It never was, and it never will be!"

"Then what is it?" she asks softly.

"I…I felt like I was losing myself, like I was two-dimensional, even before I lost the baby. Like I was just "the wife." And you have to understand, he never treated me like that, never treated me as if I didn't matter, or had nothing important to say for myself. I just felt it. On some level, though, I wish he had treated me as 'the wife.' Not as a trophy wife," I explain, in response to her raised eyebrows, "but as an equal partner. He kept trying to shield me from things. I was his 'baby.' Okay, so on some level I enjoyed it, that he wanted to protect me, but it got old. The fight we had the morning he left after the…well, it was the first one we'd had where he'd left angry, without apologizing at all."

"Have you told him about the baby?"

"No."

"Honey, you need to tell him. It's his baby, too. When are you due, anyway?"

"I'm not sure, really. I haven't actually been to the doctor."

"Are you crazy? I mean, have you completely lost your mind?" She's shouting with full force; my sister unleashing the full power of her anger is a frightening sight. "You know how much trouble you had with Caro! Are you trying to kill yourself? Jesus, Liza, do you know how drained Mom was, how worried? And Dad! Dad didn't sleep; he practically wore a hole in our rug with his pacing. You want to screw around with your personal life, that's fine. I don't like it, but…fine. Your health is another story. I'm your big sister, and I say so, so there, dammit! Come on," she says abruptly, catching my hand. "Mom and Dad are visiting Sandy and Darrah in the city. We're going. If you won't listen to me, you'll listen to them."

I can't believe I'm standing here. Norah dragged me, as she promised, or rather threatened, and now I'm standing outside Darrah and Sandy's loft, and I'm nervous.

Okay, so I haven't totally isolated from my family, but I certainly haven't gone out of my way to see them, either. With everything else, I couldn't deal with the disappointment they must have felt, and then I never worked up the nerve.

The door opens, interrupting my thoughts. "Hi, Daddy."

Seeing her standing there, well, it's a jolt. I haven't seen her in eight years, since she went out to California again. There have been strained phone calls, with more unsaid than said. Letters. Emails. But no visits.

I've taken to getting the San Francisco Chronicle, for reviews of her work. I, unlike others, am not angry at her, and never have been. Hurt and confused, yes, but not angry. I wish she would have come to me, talked, but I'm not one to judge on making a mess of things, especially where emotions are concerned.

Right now I'm just happy to see her, standing in front of me. With a pang, I realize how unsure she is, how much more guarded. Not like my baby girl at all. She used to be so open, so full of energy. She had this light inside her, this magnetism. You couldn't look at her without smiling. Donna could handle punishing her well enough when she was small, but me? Never.

So looking at her now, arms crossed, hunched, uncertain, breaks my heart, and I step forward, and wrap my arms around her.

After Dad hugged me, I thought things might be okay, but now I remember why I didn't want to do this. They're all looking at me. All of them. Dad, smiling but hurt, I can see that. Sandy, his eyes cloudy, biting his lip. Mom, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with a barely restrained indignation. And Darrah.

God, she must absolutely hate me. She was one of my dearest friends once, but now her face is unreadable, and after measuring me with her eyes for a long minute, she finally speaks, cool and remote. "To what do we owe the honor of this visit, Liza?"

"I…" Suddenly, I panic. It's too much, too much. "Look, I shouldn't have come. I know you hate me. I'm sorry. I'll just go. I'm sorry."

She laughs bitterly. "Hate you? Liza, that would be too easy. I don't even know how I feel about you anymore, but I sure as hell know I can't pare it down to just one word. I find what you did to my brother utterly cruel and reprehensible. I want to cry every time I think about how much love he still feels for you, after all this time, all this hurt. I ache for Caro when she calls me with questions, things she should be hearing from you, when your letters aren't enough. She could phone you, I know, but she's too afraid. Too afraid of being hurt, rejected. Again. And she's so fearless in everything else. And my heart breaks every time I have to listen to my husband blame himself for this mess, because even though I've tried to convince him otherwise, he still persists in feeling responsible. So no, Liza, I don't hate you. I think too little of you for that."

Through that whole speech she's spoken quietly, shaking Sandy's hand off her arm. Looking at them all, I can see that to some extent, they agree with her. I start to hear a buzzing in my ears, and the room seems to be spinning somewhat. Darrah's talking again. I shake my head to try and clear it.

"You must know all that though, you're not dumb. So I ask you: what the hell made you think you could just knock on my door after all this? Huh? What possible excuse could you have?"

I'm suddenly feeling really dizzy, but I still manage to choke out an answer. "I'm…I'm having your brother's baby." The buzzing gets louder, and then everything fades to blackness.

Once she collapses, I feel as though I can finally move again. During Darrah's tirade, I felt frozen. I wanted to protect my sister, seeing how vulnerable she looked, but I couldn't. Darrah's needed to say what she said for a long time, and even though it probably wasn't the best way, it was inevitable. And I couldn't move.

And then she spoke, and fainted. I rush over to her, pick her up, shout for a washcloth, a doctor, anything, I don't know what. Darrah's standing there, her hand over her mouth, as the rest rush around, watching as I lay my sister gently on the couch. All of a sudden Liza just seems so small. So small.

Damn whoever decided life had to be so hard.

Once again, I cannot believe I'm doing this.

I'm in North Carolina, outside of Dave's house. He doesn't live in our little house anymore. This is a big place, with a wraparound porch, close to the water.

I cannot believe I'm doing this. I can't believe any of it.

Twins. Can you believe it?

They dragged me to Darrah's OB/GYN, and it's twins. Due in May. Everyone got so worried; I had a rough enough time with one. But something tells me these two will make it, that they're here for a reason, whatever it might be. So I'm going to keep them, whatever Dave says, whatever happens.

They told me I had to tell him, and in person. I agreed. But that doesn't mean I want to do it.

My chest constricts as I watch her get out of her car. I open the screen door, hearing every nuance of the creak, and stand on the front porch, in the chilly fall air. Slowly, I walk down the steps. She's beautiful. Damn it, why is she always so beautiful? She's wearing worn jeans and a sweater the color of a perfect sky, just the shade of her eyes. One side slips down, revealing a bit of a tanned shoulder. The paisley scarf wrapped around her neck, of a blue only slightly lighter than the sweater, just draws attention to the shoulder, that perfect shoulder, the one I kissed that last morning.

I wonder, bleakly, whether I'm about to get my heart broken again.

"Liza."

His voice is neutral, devoid of its usual warmth. I steel myself, and look into his face, his eyes. "Dave."

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just passing," I joke feebly. He doesn't seem to find it funny. Neither do I. I look down, running a hand through my hair. "I came to see you."

"Oh. Why?"

I look up, startled by the bluntness of his question. And then I see her.

She's jogging up the road. Despite the cold, she's wearing dark green shorts with a stripe down the side and a light green tank top, a sweatshirt tied around her waist. She's got her father's athletic build, with a lanky, slender grace I remember from my own teenage years. Her hair's a bright gold, wavy, pulled back in a simple ponytail.

I don't know how I'm not crying, because my soul is shattering.

All of a sudden she stops short, and looks at me, with an intense gaze. She got her father's eyes, two deep pools of dark golden amber.

Dave glances at me, then walks over to her, says something softly. Reluctantly, she turns and goes up to the house, but before she enters, she turns, and looks at me again. After a moment, Dave clears his throat.

"Well."

"She's beautiful," I say softly. "You were right, Dave. She's beautiful."

"Look who she came from." I look at him, holding his gaze with mine, and then, all of a sudden, he's closed off again.

Damn it to hell! I am not doing this again! I can't. I won't allow it. More importantly, I will absolutely not allow the same thing to happen to my daughter. I am not having her hurt again. Ever.

My anger makes me suddenly impatient, brusque. "What do you want, Liza?"

She darts a quick glance up at me, and then she speaks. "I'm having a baby. Two, actually."

I'm stunned. For a moment I can't seem to think, much less move, or speak. Then, all that's in my head is that someone's touched her, had her, who's not me, and it makes my blood boil. I don't even stop to consider…

"Who's the lucky man?" I ask bitterly.

She takes a deep breath. "You," she says simply.

What? "And just why should I believe you?" I know it's cruel, but it just came out.

She looks at me steadily, unflinchingly. "Because you know me, Dave. Whatever else I've done, I've never lied to you, and I never will. When I tell you this, it's the truth. You were there that night. I haven't been with anyone else since, because you were right. We still have it. I don't know what that means, or what we can do about it, or if we should do anything at all, but I wanted you to know. I'm having these babies, and they're yours, and I just wanted you to know. That's all."

Well.