Author Note: Second-person narration is from one character to another, as if they are retelling their stories.

This is a chapter in a part 5 backstory collection. Heads up, everyone's gay (canon, amirite?). You can find the rest by searching my author name.

Bad Name

(Abbacchio)

I only found out because I walked into the restaurant when you were talking with Fugo and Narancia.

"You two should go," you said, pushing a pair of tickets across the table to Fugo.

"Are you serious? I thought you were taking Guy for his birthday. It's his favorite band."

"No," you said sadly. "I have to break up with him. Just take the tickets. You'll love it. It's this new American band and the venue is great. It'll be dark with glowsticks and dancing."

Narancia grinned. "I heard glowsticks. Come on, we should go!"

Fugo rolled his eyes. "You can't break up with Guy on his birthday, Bruno. That's a shitty thing to do to a person."

"It's not his birthday yet. That's tomorrow. I'm breaking up with him tonight so that it's not on his birthday."

"It's still a birthday plan you made with him a month in advance!"

"I still liked him a month ago!"

"You're being a dick. Just wait a week."

"But I have a date tomorrow."

"What? Why?"

"It just happened, okay? So I can either break up with him before his birthday, or cheat on him on his actual birthday. Option one is classier. Or less shitty."

Narancia was looking between you and Fugo like a lost puppy. I slipped in the door, since I obviously couldn't back out on having overheard this now. You noticed me and bit your lip; Guy was a disputed topic between us, considering you picked him up a few months before we broke up – when you were making promises to me left and right about doing better. Hearing every day that you were bored with the OC you'd left me for didn't improve my temper any.

"It's very simple," Fugo told you, talking with his hands like he does when he's frustrated. "Cancel your date. Take your straight boyfriend to see his favorite band for his birthday. Wait a week and then dump him."

"No!"

"Why not!"

"I can't stand another week with him!"

"Why not!"

"He's boring!"

"That's no excuse." I hadn't meant to wade into this, but I couldn't quell my anger. "Do the right thing, or I will."

You threw your hands wide in consternation. "What does that even mean?"

I snatched the tickets off the table. "I'll take him to the damn concert. And I'll tell him you're breaking up with him, and I'll set him up with someone more deserving if I can. He's a nice boy and he shouldn't have to deal with you."

I didn't know why I did it. I only knew I was angry with you and that was the plan that formulated in my brain and spilled out of my mouth.

You laughed at me and gave this helpless little wave. "Okay! Be my guest! If that's what you're doing, far be it from me to stop you, Leone!"

"Is that even a good idea?"

Fugo made to stop me, but I brushed by him and on out the door. By the time I realized I was skipping team meeting, I was halfway across the city and deep in a mood. Ah, well. I was caught up on paperwork with nothing new to report, and with Mista on board, you would have enough hands to deal with the new assignments. I mentally ticked off one of my personal days and reminded myself that Fugo wouldn't let anything happen to you. Or he would call me. We had just gotten the mobile phones. I patted my pocket and found the phone's reassuring bulk, then went back to brooding over the sheer, lustrous injustice that was you.

Half an hour and two kilometers later, I realized I didn't know where or when you had agreed to meet Guy this evening. Well, that was an inconvenience but not a problem, given Moody Blues. I picked up your trail at the café near my place and walked with you to Guy's. Your habit of cutting through buildings with Sticky Fingers made me grumble and back-track around blocked alleys. Then I picked up Guy's morning commute and took the bus with him to his work. He had such mild habits; he left home at six a.m., read a book on the bus, and stopped for a small coffee next to the government monolith where he worked some kind of desk job. It was hard to imagine that kind of man running with you. Why the hell had you let something so mundane come between us?

I checked evening traffic at the main door of his building and found him every night of the week at exactly half past five. Just in case, I put my back to the wall and waited through the afternoon, working ahead on the week's financial report for Polpo's boss in my notebook. Of course Polpo never wrote his own reports - of fucking course. With Moody Blues on guard, I wouldn't miss my target.

There it was, five-thirty. I stowed my papers. Government employees hustled from the doors beside me, laughing and chatting as they floated into a warm Friday evening. Moody Blues ticked on for target: Giuseppe Glassatura. I quickly stepped to the door to watch for his bland young face in the bland middle-aged crowd.

Moody Blues tapped my shoulder and pointed. Helpful. Cheeky. I dismissed my stand.

"Giuseppe?"

He looked up at me and blinked, taking in my age, my hair, my attire.

"Have we met?"

"I don't believe so. Leone Abbacchio." I offered my hand and he shook it, nonplussed. "I know you through Bruno. My ex."

He was startled. Just startled. It was refreshingly simple. Someone from Passione would have been startled, suspicious, embarrassed, fearful, combative… They might have heard about Zo and been ashamed, even alarmed, to meet me. They might have had troubles of their own and hustled on their way rather than talk to a man who called you his ex. At the least, they would have eyed me calculatingly, deciding who would win in a fight and who would win in the game of holding your attention. Not Guy. He was just startled.

"Did he… send you?"

I pulled us aside, out of foot traffic. "He can't make it this evening. He wanted to make sure you still got these tickets."

Guy glanced at the tickets, looking crestfallen.

"Bruno said it's your favorite band?"

Nodding.

"And it's your birthday tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "I'm a bit short on friends these days. Since I came out. Turns out the crowd I ran with weren't… comfortable with that."

"Ah."

"And… Something didn't just come up, did it? I mean, we've been planning this night for a month. He's breaking up with me, isn't he?"

No sense mincing words. "Yeah."

He sat down hard on a brick windowsill. Wacky government architecture. He didn't cry. Maybe crying is for relationships with a soul. He just looked hopeless. Bereft. I know there's no help for those feelings, so I let him sit there looking that way.

After a few minutes, he looked up at me. "And he sent his ex to give me that news?"

"I sent myself." Since he waited, I explained. "He was planning to give away the concert tickets and break up with you instead, and that's such a shit move! So I took the tickets and told him I'd do it. You should still go. He's not worth crying over. Believe me, I tried it."

Guy had those quiet hazel eyes, always looking pensive. He rested them on me a moment before asking, "You still know him how, exactly?"

"Oh." Implications cascaded down over me. "No, I'm not back with him. God. You know he started with you three whole months before we finished breaking up? I'm not taking him back after that. No, we just work together. That's all."

"Oh. At the, uh. The newspaper."

"…Yeah. That's right. Bruno's, um–"

"Sports editor. He told me. And you?"

"Uh, I cover crime. Local crime. You know. Police stories."

"Gang activity. Yeah. He mentioned you before, I think."

We stared at each other for a long, awkward moment. Given your oversharing, there was a good chance this young man could tell my life story back to me, order my favorite meal at any given restaurant, and describe my perfect night without pausing to think about it.

"Probably," I said. "Well. From one ex to another – would you mind if I accompanied you this evening? Sounds like a good band."

He broke into a shy smile. "Really? You're serious?"

"Yeah. I'm always serious – didn't he tell you?"

His sheepish face said yes, he had heard quite enough about me. I sighed. That was one of my suspicions as to why you were so remarkably terrible at holding onto people these days.

I held out my hand. "Well?"

"Yeah. I'd like that. Thanks."

Guy took my hand, then dropped it like a hot rock, eyeing the trickle of coworkers still leaving his building.

"You know we're one in ten, right?" I asked.

"What?"

"I mean, you're gonna be pretty lonely if you stay in the closet. You're making your life much harder."

He shook his head. "Honestly, I'm just done for now. After seeing how my friends reacted? I don't need to know how this would play out at work."

"Fair. I wasn't out when I was on the police force."

"It's better at the newspaper?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's a lot better. Actually, just having Bruno around to be more emphatically out than anyone has a right to be, makes it easier for the rest of us. We've got a little clique of friends there. It's good."

We walked in silence for a few minutes.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Away from your job, obviously. Did you have dinner reservations anywhere?"

He looked embarrassed. Very cute. Damn, this kid was growing on me. "At La Rosa. We went there for our anniversary. The food is amazing, but it's way out of my budget. Let's just get something quick."

I laughed. "No, we're going. Bruno made the plan and stood you up. He can handle the bill for us."

"What? No, that's ridiculous!"

"I mean it. Come on, I'm that ex. I know he told you about us. He owes me so bad. Besides, I'm sort of doing him a favor tonight by helping him be less of a total dick to you. Right? So I'll pay tonight and I'll bring him the bill tomorrow. He'll be glad to have a way to even the score, even a little bit."

"Wow. Isn't that… I mean, you work together, right? He's an editor at your paper?"

"Not my editor."

"Still. And what, do they pay big money at your newspaper? How are either of you affording this?"

"Ha. I'm using a credit card and expecting to be paid back. It's not my problem how Bruno planned to pay for this date, and it's not your problem either. Now come on, he's not great at estimating how long it takes to get places, so we better pick up the pace."

When we arrived, we found a table reserved. It was the kind of small, expensive restaurant where they must spend more on candles each month than on electricity.

"Why a lily?" I asked Guy. Instead of a rose, our table had a single lily flower floating in a glass bowl. Elegant, but lilies are for condolences, not for romantic dates. How long was this break-up in the works?

"No idea. Do they not have menus here?"

"Shit, you're right. I guess it's like a chef's choice dinner here or something."

"We could ask."

"Nah. Let's keep pretending we know what we're doing. Oh, just water, thanks." I covered my wine glass with my hand, to the waiter's obvious dismay. I felt like I had to excuse my rudeness. "It's a health condition. Thanks."

Alcoholism is a health condition, right? Whatever, Fugo says it is.

"So how did you meet Bruno?" Guy asked me.

We both winced, but since you were all we had in common, it was time to admit you would be our main topic of conversation.

I swirled my water and thought about a safe lie that cut as close to the truth as possible. "Through work. We got to talking and he helped me sort out my last relationship."

"You mean he convinced you to leave someone for him, too?"

"No, I mean–" I wouldn't normally tell a stranger about Zo, but I hadn't meant to impugn your honor. "I was with someone abusive. Like obviously physically abusive. I was trapped in a dangerous situation and Bruno helped me find a way out."

"So not like me and my wife."

I choked on my water. "Come again?"

"Oh, um. My wife Elena. We're divorcing."

"Are you kidding me? Because of Bruno?"

"It's my own fault. We were in a slump when I met him. She was depressed, I think, and I was trying to figure out if I was gay. I met Bruno at a café and I asked him out on an impulse. He's just so…"

"I know."

"There's something about him. I was actually shocked when he came through. He's way out of my league. I mean, obviously. And then I thought it was going to be… I don't know, a couple nights, I guess. We agreed it was nothing serious. And then a year later, we had both broken up with our, um, partners, and I thought maybe it was serious. But I guess not, because here we are."

"Hm. Help me out with the timeline here. You met Bruno…?"

"A year and two months ago."

"Okay, March of last year. And you separated from your wife…?"

"Two months in. May. A year ago next week. When it started to be more… more serious, I guess. More than just a night out here and there, anyway."

Conveniently, the affronted waiter brought us salad just then, so I had a few minutes to get it together. I don't know why cheating on me with one person seemed so much more hideous than cheating on me with a dozen people, which I certainly knew about – but it did.

Too soon, Guy looked up and asked, "Why?"

"Oh, it's just… He let me think he'd had you for about six months now. November, December. That would have been since when we were really on the rocks. But a year ago, we were good. I thought. Except apparently he was ramping up with you. A year and two months ago, I was having a mental breakdown over… something at work, a harassment case that didn't have any apparent resolution in sight. Bruno wasn't coping with it very well either. But we got over that. I thought. But that's when you must have met."

"I'm sorry…"

"Oh. He told you."

"Not that much. We sort of agreed at the start that we both had someone else we were really committed to. So I knew it was cheating, but that was also why it felt… safe. I mean, that's why I thought it would just be on the side and it wouldn't change our lives. Do you… I feel awful about this, it was never my intention, but do you feel like I stole him from you?"

I laughed. I actually laughed in his face, the poor boy. It was just the contrast between his view of this life-changing relationship and the way you constantly trivialized it when you talked with Fugo about him. The way you sobbed your heart out when we broke up versus your emphatic insistence that this sweet young man was too boring to bear for another week. Boring? That's not even a problem you should have if you've gotten to know a person.

Guy looked embarrassed at first, and then very, very sad. "I don't actually mean that much to him, do I?"

"I'm sorry," I said. Without even thinking, I took his hand from the table and held it in mine. "I didn't mean to laugh about it. It's just, I had this tortured relationship with him for five years, and we spent the whole last year trying to salvage it, making promises and compromises and shit, you know? Crying on each other, bitching each other out, complaining to our friends. This one mutual friend – God, we probably drove him insane.

"He's the one who accidentally let on about you, and that was the last straw. I ended it, finally, when I found out none of Bruno's promises about cheating had been in good faith. Until I told him I knew about you, Bruno was telling me we were back on track, everything was going to be fine. Told me that for four months. I thought. But it turns out it was the whole year. I guess the difference doesn't matter all that much, if you think about it. Either way, it undermines every promise he ever made to me.

"But no, you didn't steal him from me. You couldn't have if you tried. Heaven and earth couldn't have pried him off me. He didn't believe me the first two times I told him we were breaking up. It got messy. I had to get friends involved. Damn. That was two months ago and he's still basically harassing me to get back together. Damn, why am I telling you this? This isn't making either of us feel better."

"No, it's really not. You actually broke up with him two months ago?"

"Yeah. The ides of March, a day that will live in infamy."

"Only because he told me that happened in December."

"No."

We stared at each other while the diffident waiter took our half-eaten salads away and brought soup. Guy looked mortified. I was probably smiling. It was pretty funny that all it took to tear through your web of lies was one honest conversation with your paramour. Breaking out of the multi-warded safe that was Zo's gaslighting had taken years. This was a walk in the park. Sure, you were a lying son of a bitch that year, but ultimately, you were just you.

"Sorry, lover," I told Guy, patting his hand. "You got used. He lied to both of us. You know he cheated with other people, too, during this timeline we're talking about, right?"

"I did not know that, but I guess I should have expected it. I mean, we were already cheating to begin with."

I shrugged. "He's always been that way. When I started with him, he didn't understand how to be in a couple. Then he learned the rules and toed the line for a while. Then he got restless and started hooking up with whoever again. I tried to rein it in a couple times, but ultimately, I think that's just how he likes to live. I had to take it or leave it, and eventually I left it."

Guy rubbed his face. "I can't believe I left Elena over this."

"Did Bruno encourage you?"

"Not… in as many words. We talked a lot about being gay and he helped me redefine myself. I needed that, though. I used to feel so trapped… He never told me to get a divorce or anything. I just thought… I told Elena everything and moved out when it got to the point where he was meeting me after work most evenings. I thought that wasn't 'on the side' anymore and Elena agreed, but obviously that's not how Bruno saw it. I feel like such an idiot."

I shrugged and drank my soup. "These things happen. It's not your fault you got lied to. This doesn't make or break your life, you know?"

"It kind of does. I lost Elena and all her friends, and I lost the rest of my friends, too, and now I'm also losing Bruno. All I've got is a soul-crushing job and a cheap hotel room."

"Okay. Yeah. You're in a bad place."

"Please don't tell me life gets better or some pat advice like that."

"I'm not about to. My life hasn't gotten better. Life's a piece of shit."

"And please don't tell me that you've got to make the most of it anyway."

"You really don't."

"Or to look on the goddamn bright side."

"I don't have a bright side."

Guy stopped and smiled at me. "That's refreshing. You know what? I've totally lost my appetite. Do you want to just go early to this concert?"

"Sure, why not? I'm not invested in this meal."

Just then, the waiter arrived with the main course.

"Could we get that in a box and get the check, please?" I asked. "Actually, you know what? We're in a hurry. Would you go ahead and run this card?"

The waiter left in a huff.

Guy laughed. "You've got a lot of nerve, you know. It's like you don't care what anybody thinks about you."

I shrugged. "I used to care way too much. I got this nerve from dealing with Bruno for five years. Always seemed like he didn't take me seriously if I wasn't direct enough."

Guy nodded.

"On the other hand, he never gets hurt or offended about it. My abusive ex was like that. Every single thing I said was liable to come back at me as ammunition later. I was shut up like a clam when Bruno met me, and in a lot of ways he let me be myself again."

"I guess I feel that way, too. As much as I wish he'd done better, Bruno did make me feel free in a way I never imagined being."

Guy was average in so many ways, I thought as we left the table and collected my card, a receipt for you, and a box of the most expensive leftovers ever purchased. Pretty in a simple sort of way. Sweet in a quiet sort of way. Smart in an understated, polite way. It was indeed hard to imagine him as free. He seemed like just the sort of man that civilian life was designed to box in and make use of. Life had a box already labeled with his name when he was born.

"Yeah," I agreed, "if there's one thing Bruno's truly good at, it's opening doors."

The smile dropped off Guy's face. "Did he tell you about the time he lived in a closet?"

That was a surprise. You didn't share that with many people. I mean, it was not simply an unfortunate rooming situation as the summary might imply, nor was it a metaphor about being gay. I looked at Guy with a new respect; I suddenly had so many questions about what he had meant to you.

"He must have, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Hell of a thing. That's, ah, part of why I forgave him so much and gave him so many second chances. Things like that definitely mess with your head. I mean, I just had my one abusive ex and I'm still pretty messed up over it. And I was an adult when that happened."

Guy nodded thoughtfully. Damn, I thought, how much had you told this one? Did he know about Passione and just avoided speaking about it? Those quiet hazel eyes could be brimming with secrets and no one would ever know. Boring, my ass. Guy was only boring to the type of person who can't stand jigsaw puzzles.

The concert was in one of those old box theaters. I knew the one. They had torn out the moldering seats and left the slanted floor open for dancing, even though people mostly just stood around or did half-assed techno moves. Fugo had brought me there for some trance music, claiming it was a lot like being drunk or high and would therefore help me stop craving a drink. It didn't help, but I found out that the new generation dances even worse than ours and I did enjoy the fancy light system they had installed to keep lowbrows like me entertained.

The band was awful. Let me just say that first. The crowd was young and trashed. Guy offered to buy us drinks before remembering what I'd said and laughing at himself. At first we just sort of stood together, off to the side, watching the crowd "mosh" while the band thrashed through some godawful song about growing up rich. I kept reminding myself that you'd said it was his favorite band and we couldn't leave early, even though my head was pounding. Guy got really into it, though. It was absurd watching this mousey little lawyer getting totally smashed and going wild. If you'd been there - never mind.

I walked him "home" to his hotel room and left him at the door. Should I have stayed? You would argue for the healing power of love, the relationship that could have been, but you would justify anything you wanted. I had nothing on my mind but lies and guilt trips. No time for some government-sponsored OC. Yeah, probably it would have made things easier when we found out he was CIA years later, but that's not something I can plan my relationships around.

That night, I was so uneasy about what I'd say to you the next day. Maybe it was anger or maybe it was nerves, but I was restless all night, in and out of sleep.

When dawn came, I gave up and put myself together for the day. Sleeplessness made me irritable, and several new thoughts occurred to me in the shower. This wasn't actually about me. Guy had gotten hurt by your choices so much worse than I had. In fact, the list of wrongs you had done him was stunning. I wondered if you had contemplated it yourself. If you had bothered to take his perspective. I doubted it.

I drafted my thoughts several different ways, crumpling up the page and starting again each time when I became dissatisfied with my attempt. Moody Blues hovered at my shoulder, occasionally interjecting an image and wave of emotion. Insightful. I allowed it.

Finally, I drained my third cup of coffee and sat back to read my first fully satisfactory draft. I considered handing it to you in writing; the formality and coldness of the gesture were tempting, but I knew you well. The spoken word was more powerful to you than writing. I read over my clarified thoughts once more, then crumpled the page. It joined the rest on the floor.

"Thanks, Blues."

Moody Blues gathered the crumpled pages and deposited them in the trash, following a set of movements I had recorded some time ago. Then it collected my coffee mug and rinsed it while I stared out through the blinds at the waking world. Finally, my stand dropped my wallet and keys on the table beside me and stood at my elbow, projecting orange uncertainty about the plan I had formulated while it took care of chores.

"Yes, I'm certain. To hell with the consequences. What's he going to do, transfer me? It's about fucking time, isn't it?"

Blues cast a lavender pall of sadness over me, but I shook my head.

"Not today. I absolutely refuse."

Black is the night and distant the stars, and my love is not at my side.

Come, velvet-pawed grief, sadness lithe and heavy,

walk this fragile land with me and break the stems of the lilies.

Seven rivers to cross, and eighteen vows to break;

ninety years to wait and tender feet to bruise and callous.

With my muscled sadness padding beside me, I will not go lonely.

The highest trees we will fell and the tallest mountains scale

till stone by stone and root by hand we bring this land to desert-plains.

No house can hold us, thee and me, no ladder bear our flight,

and like Shaiva, like volcano, we will build by our destructive might

vast palaces of shattered glass no foot can bear to touch.

Black is the night and distant my love, no light behind my eyes,

and velvet-pawed grief flexes needle claws as he yawns,

all red-flame tongue and black-cave throat.

(Bucciarati)

I remember that day vividly, as do the rest of the team, I believe. It will forever be known as the day Leone marched in and called out my bullshit in front of everyone. Not my best moment.

You were late. I traded glances with Fugo as I ended Mista's nonsense discussion of the postal system to start check-ins.

"I still say that traffic in the cities and highways is bad enough that using ponies would be more efficient," Mista pronounced.

"Why not Vespas?" Narancia asked.

I sighed and stood up, leaning forward and placing my hands on the table to regather their attention.

That's when the outside door slammed. We all looked up, which gave you the perfect dramatic entrance as you strode into the room. Moody Blues tugged at your elbow in a last, futile attempt to restrain you; you swatted its hand away and dismissed it. Your face held thunder.

"Leone," I said, using a carefully casual tone. "Glad you made it. We're just starting–"

You walked straight up to me and slapped me hard in the face. "Bastard!"

Damn, that stung.

Fugo and Narancia were on their feet, Aerosmith buzzing overhead. I gestured at them to sit, then slowly raised a hand to my cheek. It was hot and already swelling.

"What happened, Leone?"

"I compared notes with your other ex, that's what."

"Guy? Is everything okay?"

"How dare you ask that. You didn't just cancel plans with him to dump him the day before his birthday. You celebrated a one-year anniversary with him two months ago, when you were already telling us that you needed to break up with him."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I could have told him sooner. It would have been the classy thing to do. I'm sorry. Can we move on?"

"Hell no. You told him in December that you had broken up with me!"

Shit. "I was trying to make him feel better and I lied. Okay?"

"While we were fighting and you were promising me that you'd stopped cheating."

Why was I so bad with timelines?

"I was trying to make you feel better," I said slowly and miserably, "and I lied. I'm sorry, Leone. You deserve better than me."

"I never agreed with you about that before today, but I think you're convincing me. You let him leave his wife for you a year ago – last May!"

"Bruno?" That was Fugo. "You never told me that."

"It wasn't for me! He thought he might be gay before he met me, and then he realized he was definitely gay and he left his wife. Okay? It happens. I never advised him to do that. He didn't even ask me about it. He just asked one day how serious we were and based on my answer, he went and told her everything! It was dumb, but it was his choice to do that!"

You looked as cynical as I had ever seen you. "What was your answer?"

I swallowed. No choice but the truth. "I told him I wasn't leaving him anytime soon. Which I thought was true at the time. I stayed with him another year, so by my admittedly low standards, it was kind of true."

"Well done. You 'kind of' kept that promise. But Bruno, last May, you asked me if I would ever consider marrying you, even though you're Catholic and your church will never recognize it, my family can never find out, and Italy won't offer civil unions until 2006. You told me I was essential to your life and that I would crush all your dreams if I ever left you. Which may be true, but that's not something you should say to me without revealing that you have a second lover whom you don't plan to leave any time soon. I accepted your words and I kept us together months beyond my better judgment to avoid causing you pain. That wasn't very fair of you, Bruno."

I shook my head. "I didn't do it on purpose. I never thought of it that way. Leone, I'm sorry. I never aimed to hurt you."

"You shouldn't have lied. When I found out about Guy, you told me you met him in November. You told me a fake story about how and when you met him. If you had told me the truth, I would have left and maybe you would have loved him better. I would have left and maybe I wouldn't have felt so bad about it. You made our break-up my fault and I nearly killed myself over it. Because I was too weak to support you. Because I was too crazy. Because I could never be what you wanted. Those aren't your words, love, you'd never say that to me, but those were the reasons, weren't they? And if I'd known you were playing me the whole time, I wouldn't have bought it for a second.

"So you didn't tell me. You let me believe a story where I just wasn't good enough and you were just doing what you had to. Maybe you didn't do that on purpose. Maybe you just took the easy way every time it came up. But for God's sake, Bruno, I nearly died over your lies! Can you live with that? Think about what you do to people!"

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"You wrecked three lives and possibly your own with selfish choices and lies this year. I'm ashamed to know you. Do better."

Your thunder had ground down to a growl. I could see misery looming behind it like hours of rain. The rest of the team were stunned. Mista had, for once, recognized the wisdom of silence. Fugo was frowning at me like an encyclopedia article had just misinformed him. Narancia looked like a deer in the headlights.

"Abbacchio, why are you lying?" Narancia cried suddenly. "Bucciarati would never do all that! He can't have, or you would never put up with it! You're not even crying. You're just mad at him for something, and that's okay, but don't lie about what it is! It's not fair to the rest of us!"

I held up my hand, and he stopped. "I'm sorry, Narancia. I really messed up. I wanted to be someone you could look up to, but I'm not. I wanted my life to be better and I let myself make selfish choices and take shortcuts, and this is how it turned out. I should have chosen honor, even if it felt like they'd already taken all of it from me. Clearly I had some left, because I was able to throw it away. It's just… it's bitter, trying to make the right choice again and again, when people have made the wrong choices about me for so long. That doesn't matter, though. I should have done it anyway.

"I'm sorry, Leone. I didn't do right by you. I failed you so many times. I lied to you and I cheated on you and I broke my promises, and I let you get hurt because I wanted things for myself. I can't make it right anymore. What would you like me to do?"

You faced me with terrible misery written across your face. Your voice was flat and hopeless when you said, "Never do it again."

I nodded. "Never. I'll do better."

"Apologize to Guy. Explain yourself to him. He blames himself for things that are your fault, so fix that."

"I'll call him today."

"Can you pay his divorce fees? It would go a long way for him. He's living in a hotel room and that shit's expensive on a government salary."

"You're right. I will. What else?"

"That's all."

"What about you?"

You held my gaze a long minute. "I'll stand by you because I said I would. I'll be your second-in-command. Just… be worthy. Be someone I can be proud of."

Pain and relief struggled in my chest. I nodded because I couldn't speak.

"Give me a task list for today and tomorrow," you said. "I can't be here, but I need to keep busy."

Fugo handed me a sheet of paper and one of his fancy pens. I wrote you a quick list, pausing to think which tasks would suit your mood. A moment later, I passed it to you. You glanced at it, then folded and pocketed it.

I tried to give you a smile. It didn't come easy. Given my life story, plenty of people have held me in contempt, and I had grown a skin thick enough to repel all of them. But you weren't people and your contempt cut me to the bone.

You were leaving and I was sorry, but you turned back – one last thought. "Bruno. You're better than this. You have been better, and you will be again. I don't doubt you."

Then you were gone. I loved that about you, that even after all I'd done, you wouldn't leave me broken without a thought to the mending.

When the restaurant's outer door banged shut behind you, the team let out a collective breath and looked to me.

Mista whistled, a long, low exclamation of a note.

"Yeah," I said softly. "He's quite the ex."

"Glad he isn't mine," Mista said cheerfully.

"No," I said. "He's magnificent. I need someone to throw the truth in my face."

"Better than killing himself," Fugo said drily.

I nodded sadly, thinking back over our short months apart.

Narancia still followed me with huge, worried eyes.

"Narancia?" I said quietly.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What? What the hell are you sorry for? Narancia, none of that was your fault. You know that, right?"

Narancia slipped out of his seat and came straight over to hug me.

"I'm sorry things went so wrong for you," he told me. "Don't give up. It's gonna get better, you'll see."

"Thanks, Narancia."

I hugged him back, trying not to squeeze the life out of him. God, I love that kid. Then I nodded to Fugo and walked out before I broke down in front of my team. Calling Guy would have to wait.