A/N: Dear readers, please do not read this next part in a public space. Also, probably not going to be around later this evening so I thought I would post this now. We'll resume tomorrow night. That is all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven (Michael POV)
When I catch sight of Rafael Solano striding into the police station like he owns the place it takes everything I have inside of me to suppress my loud, aggravated groan. I have no idea why he's there but his timing is terrible. I've been back on the job less than a week and the last thing I need is to have another confrontation with him. Hoping to keep a low profile, I scoot down lower in my desk chair, to make myself as inconspicuous as possible while he carries on whatever business he's come to do. Unfortunately, it quickly becomes apparent as he makes a beeline straight for me that I am the business.
This time I'm unsuccessful at holding back my groan of consternation. He's not even within ten feet of my desk before I stand and sigh, "Dude, you do realize that you're violating your own restraining order right now? I can't be within 20 feet of you, remember?"
"Forget the damn restraining order. We need to talk," he pronounces in that imperial way that always irritates the hell out of me, "Can we go someplace?"
"Hell no. If you want to talk we can do it right here…surrounded by witnesses."
There are several of my fellow police officers milling around the area. It's a typical day at the station, with officers constantly filing in and out. Though no one does anything in particular to acknowledge Rafael's presence, I know that they are keeping a watchful eye on him. By now, everyone knows the personal beef we have against one another and they are on high alert for any trouble that might arise. Given the circumstances, I'm comforted by that knowledge.
Rafael, however, doesn't share my same concerns. He scoffs at my reply. "I'm not here to trap you into anything, Michael. I just want to clear the air between us. That's all."
"I'm pretty sure we've said all we need to say to each other."
"You think so?"
"Is this about Mateo?" I demand flatly, "Because I'm assuming Jane finally told you we've been talking."
"Yes. I'm aware of that," he replies in a tone that is anything but pleased.
Though it galls me a little, I try to reassure him, mostly because I think I owe him that. After all, I did put him in the hospital. "If you're worried about me being around Mateo after our fight, I want to put your mind at ease," I tell him sincerely, "Regardless of how I feel about you, I would never hurt your son, Rafael. I love Mateo and I want to watch him grow up."
"I'm not here about Mateo. I came to talk to you about Jane."
As soon as he mentions her name I want to shut the conversation down. Through some rather considerable effort on my part I've managed to maintain a distant relationship with Jane. But it's been extremely difficult. I still love her. I think about her every day. I dream about her at night. And when I can't sleep, I lie awake wanting her.
And I've been able to ignore all of that, push it aside because I know that eventually she'll go back to Rafael. So now that's he's here, all smug and superior, I can only imagine that he's come to tell me that he and Jane are back together and to lay down some ground rules for me. I'd honestly rather be tasered in the forehead than hear it. I might have been expecting the gut punch this whole time but that doesn't mean I'm prepared to receive it. Still, I make a show of bravado and give the appearance of shrugging him off.
"So does that mean congratulations are in order?" I ask, resuming my seat. In order to maintain my façade of indifference, I rearrange the mountain of suspect files on my desk, trying hard to pretend that what is left of my heart isn't crumbling to dust.
"Congratulations?"
I glance up to find Rafael scowling at me in confusion. "Yeah. I'm assuming you came here today to tell me that you and Jane are a couple again. So, congratulations."
"Thanks, but you can keep your congratulations because that's not why I'm here," he contradicts me in a dry tone, "Jane is still in love with you actually."
The declaration takes me off guard and, for a minute, I'm unable to formulate a response to him. It's not that I'm unaware of Jane's feelings for me but Rafael's completely Zen attitude about it is throwing me off a little bit. I can't tell if he feels challenged by the fact Jane loves me or if he's made his peace with it. I force myself not to obsess over which one it could be.
Finally, after collected myself, I drop my eyes and resume rearranging the stacks of folders before me. "Love has never been the problem with me and Jane," I tell him, "That's always been you."
"I could say the same thing, you know."
"Well, the way I remember it, Jane and I were engaged before you came in like a wrecking ball and demolished everything that ever mattered to me!"
"And what do you know, Michael, you came back and returned the favor."
I know I have to concede his point there and that aggravates me so much that I glare at him. "What do you want, Rafael? Just tell me and then get the hell out of here."
"At the risk of sounding redundant, I'm here to talk about Jane." He nods in indication of the full station and the possible eavesdropping ears that surround us. "Maybe you'd like to have this conversation in private," he suggests.
"Nope. Just say what you have to say and leave," I declare in feigned disinterest.
"Fine. Have it your way. Jane is pregnant."
I startle so violently at that news that I actually send my desk stapler flying across the room. It narrowly misses clipping some poor, unsuspecting fool in the head before clattering loudly to the floor. Half a dozen eyes swing over in our direction to investigate the ruckus but I barely acknowledge the penetrating looks because I'm so stunned. I don't even take a breath. I am sure that every drop of color has drained from my face. And the only thing I can process in that moment, the only thing I can hear is: Jane is pregnant. Jane is pregnant. Jane is pregnant.
I'm convinced that Rafael Solano can't possibly shock me anymore than he already has until he adds drolly, "It's yours, by the way."
Still reeling, I blink and cock my head towards him as if I hadn't quite heard him. "I'm sorry. What was that again?"
"You heard me the first time. You're going to be a dad, Michael. So you might want to get over all this self-pitying angst you've been wallowing in and crawl out of that dark hole because Jane needs you."
I wilt back into my chair, my body trembling all over. "Holy shit…h-holy shit…" At first, I have a hard time processing a word he's said. It takes me several seconds to digest the news, to make sense of the statement at all but, once I do, I start thinking about the situation analytically, like a cop. And, inevitably, I find my shock tempered by skepticism. "Wait. How do you know this?"
"Jane told me."
It's difficult not to scoff at the reply. The claim is so ludicrous that I have to laugh a little. "Jane told you that I got her pregnant?"
"Yeah, she did. And, for the record, that kind of sucked for me so you can wipe that stupid smirk off of your face."
I barely acknowledge the insult because I'm too busy calculating mental math, counting back to the first and only time Jane and I have had sex since I came back. Two months ago, the night I found out my brother was dead. "Wait, wait, wait. If Jane is pregnant that means she's got to be like 8 weeks along."
"Yeah. And?"
"And I've seen her since then. I've spoken to her more than once. She's never said a single word."
"She wasn't going to tell you," Rafael says, "She thinks you don't love her anymore, that you're done with her. But we both know that's not true." He surveys me with a look so penetrating I almost wonder if he can see right through me. His next words prove that he can. "You're still in love with her."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because she's pregnant and she's scared and she needs you, Michael. So, do something about that…or I will."
I hate to admit that, for me, the idea of Rafael raising my possible child is a powerful motivator towards action but it really is. It's probably not the greatest thing that I'm likely going to leave work early with very little explanation to my superior officer when I've only been employed for four days but there is no way I can stay at the station after Rafael's claim. Every attempt I make to concentrate on work proves to be futile because, inevitably, my thoughts wander right back to Jane.
I'm so anxious that I can't even sit still. I have to see her. My mind is buzzing with so many things all at once that I can't even think. Questions of why and how and the stunned realization that she actually lied to me and why is on a never-ending loop in my brain. And, strangely enough, I don't feel angry. I'm confused instead. Under different circumstances, I might have been prompt to dismiss Rafael's claims because I'm so reluctant to trust him but I realize in hindsight that there have been clues all this time and I missed every one of them.
Mateo's casual reports that his mommy had a "stomach flu," Rogelio's cryptic texts urging me to call Jane or asking me constantly if I've spoken to her, the exhaustion I hear in her voice every time I call for Mateo. All of that coupled with the knowledge that we had used zero protection the night we had sex leads to the most obvious conclusion. Jane really is pregnant.
The only thing I can't figure out is why she didn't tell me. Is it possible she doesn't want to keep the baby? Had she ever had any intention of telling me at all? And, if she was planning to through with the pregnancy, what was she going to tell me when it became obvious? The questions just keep coming and it wasn't like Rafael was very forthcoming with the details.
After dropping his bombshell, he'd left me with little more than a, "You need to talk to Jane," and then walked out. Typical Hurricane Rafael, blow in, create a horrible mess, and then blow away. And so, after telling my captain that I had to leave due to a "family emergency, I am now I'm on my way to Alba Villanueva's home to confront Jane, breaking the speed limit along the way in my state issued vehicle.
I make it from the from the police station to the Villanueva home in 12 minutes even with medium traffic but I barely remember the drive. By the time I make it, my palms are sweating profusely, my heart feels as if it's thumping in my throat and I have a pounding headache and none of that has to do with the harrowing drive over either. I'm already out of the car and sprinting up the walk before I've even considered what I'm going to say to her.
Right this second, I'm not sure how I even feel about the pregnancy other than the vague knowledge that I'm not sad about it. I just need direct confirmation from her that it's true before I really let it sink in. I raise my fist to knock on the door but don't make it that far because it suddenly yawns open and Jane appears out of nowhere. Startled, I fall back a step.
"Michael?" she cries, her face blank with surprise, "What are you doing here? You know Mateo's in school right now, don't you?"
"Yeah, I know that. I need to talk to you. Were you on your way out?"
"Yes, I was. It's my day off. I was about to head to the grocery store but, I can spare a few minutes." She steps back to let me scoot past her into the house. I literally feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin as I watch her close the door. It takes forever for her to turn around and face me, at least in my mind it does. "So what's up?"
I can imagine the picture I present right now. I'm visibly tense and unable to stand still. I'm sweaty and out of breath and I have to physically restrain myself from pacing the length of her grandmother's living room. She must think I'm having a breakdown in the middle of her living room. The fact that she's watching me with wary concern only makes it worse.
"Michael? Are you okay? You look upset. Did something happen?"
"Yeah, something happened," I reply before simply blurting, "Jane, are you pregnant?"
The question is superfluous since I am 99.9% certain of the answer already. If I had taken more time to think about my approach, I might have been more dignified when confronting her. After all, I'm a police detective and I'm quite proud of my interrogation skills. Usually, I have more finesse than this but, not this time. Not with her. I'm so frazzled, so overwhelmed that I utter the first clumsy thing that pops into my head. It doesn't help that Jane appears extremely panicked after I ask either. Her reaction dispels my leftover 0.01% of doubt without her having to say a word.
"Who told you?" she whispers.
"Does it matter, Jane? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Are you really asking me that?" The vehement way she makes that demand makes me snap to attention. "You told me that you didn't want me in your life anymore, Michael. I don't know…I…I thought that maybe you wouldn't want it."
"Are you serious?"
"Michael, you said and I quote, 'I just want to try to move on. I need to know what my life looks like without you,'" she recites emotionally, "How was I supposed to come to you after that and tell you I was pregnant?"
"So the fact that you lied is my fault?"
"I'm not saying that. I'm not blaming you. I'm trying to explain my motivation."
Honestly, I can't fault her. Pain is a powerful stimulus and I know that first hand. I also know that declaration must have shattered her if she can remember what I said verbatim. I've had some experience with that as well because I can remember exactly what she said to me the night she broke our engagement all those years ago. Even after we got back together, got married and, essentially, had our abbreviated happily ever after, I still remembered that awful night in vivid detail. My stomach churns with guilt when I think about how I must have hurt her but, at the same time, I'm still a little upset with her for not telling me the truth.
"You know why I said it. You have been going back and forth between me and Rafael for too long and I was tired of being in the middle of that. I wanted you to make a decision."
"I did make a decision. You didn't believe me."
It's a bit more complicated than that but I don't want to get drawn into an argument over semantics with her when we have more important business to cover. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?" I ask, my tone disillusioned.
"I don't know," she answers, sounding as lost as I feel, "There were times when I made up my mind to do it but I'd always chicken out at the last second. The only thing that I'm absolutely sure of is that I want to have this baby."
"You do? You want to have it?"
"Yes. Of course I do. It's your baby, Michael."
Her answer is like a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. For the first time since hearing the news, I feel strangely calm. "So then you knew you wanted to keep the baby but you weren't going to tell me?" She nods her affirmation. "I don't get it. You didn't think that I would notice you walking around with a baby or…or that I would want to be a part of this?"
"I already told you what I was thinking."
"You couldn't tell me but you told Rafael?"
"Oh," she grunts in aggravation, "so that's how you found out. Makes sense. Mental note to kick his ass later."
"Again, not important. You should have told me, Jane."
"I told Rafael because I needed him to know that it was really over between us, that I didn't want to go back because, no matter what happened, I was always going to love you."
The statement disarms me entirely because I can understand why she would think that knowing about the baby would be a deal breaker for Rafael. Mateo had almost been a deal breaker for me. By telling Rafael the truth, Jane had been, in her own mind, severing their romantic relationship for good. I let that realization wash over me a bit before I speak again.
"Do you really mean that?"
"Yes, Michael! I love you. I'll always love you. And I know you don't feel that way about me anymore and I know you don't want this baby, so we can just-,"
"—You don't know how I feel," I interrupt sharply, "You're just assuming right now."
"Okay. Fine. Tell me how you feel, Michael."
I drag my hands down the length of my face as I struggle to rein in my rampaging emotions and answer her question. "When Rafael first told me the news, I was shocked. I didn't know what to think. The only thing I wanted to do was get here and talk to you. But now that it's really starting to sink in, I…I feel grateful. I feel happy…excited even, which makes zero sense right now because everything is still a mess between us and I-,"
"—Do you love me, Michael?" I'm shocked into motionlessness at the question, because her forthright demeanor catches me off guard. I think, in one decisive stroke, she's cleaved beneath my emotional armor to the vulnerable heart of me and I can't possibly be more undone than I am right this second. But then next words disarm me completely. "Don't think, just tell me. Do you still love me?"
I recognize what she's doing and my entire body becomes warm with the memory. Years ago I asked her this very same question, almost in the very same spot and my answer to her now is the same answer she gave me back then. "Yes. Yes, I still love you."
Before I'm prepared, she throws herself against me then and presses her mouth to mine in an eager kiss, knocking me off balance. I catch her in my arms and I'm kissing her back, wildly, desperately as we tumble down onto the sofa, giggling into each other's mouths, tangled together. I gather her against me, nibbling her lips and chin and jaw, simply content to have her in my arms again.
Eventually, though, our laughter begins to fade as our nuzzling becomes kisses and those kisses begin to linger and intensify. I nip along the delicate column of her throat, emboldened when she moans her approval. Her skin is soft. The faint scent of her body wash still clings from her morning shower.
I drag my mouth lower, skimming the tip of my tongue across her fluttering pulse. My exploration descends lower, to the softness of her shoulder and the ridge of her collarbone. I push away her clothing so I can taste and touch more of her skin, removing her shirt and bra with impassioned focus, driven by the undeniable need to kiss her everywhere.
Her fingers tunnel and twist through my hair, twisting, bunching and pulling. My scalp tingles. My body tingles. She cradles me closer to her as I nuzzle her breasts, swirl my tongue against her turgid nipples, press hungry, heated kisses across her skin. Her breathless moans echo in my ears, compelling me to find my way to her mouth again for yet another taste of her.
The need for skin to skin contact becomes paramount. Together we impatiently unbutton my shirt in between frantic kisses. We toss it away and I have no idea where it lands. I don't care. My undershirt, belt and badge quickly follow. I'm pretty sure I'll have a hard time finding all three later on. I don't care about that either. She's kissing her way down my naked torso and making a deliberate trek towards my crotch and the only thing I can think about is what she's going to do when she reaches her destination.
At the first tentative lick of her tongue, I catch my breath hard and fist my hands into the couch cushions. When she takes me into her mouth, I literally see stars. What escapes my throat after that is a series of garbled grunts and gurgling moans that have no discernible relationship to actual language. I'm about three seconds from losing it completely when I finally make enough sense to breathlessly suggest we go to her bedroom.
We stumble blindly down the hallway, tangled together in frenetic need, carelessly discarding various articles of clothing in between messy, uncoordinated kisses along the way. By the time we reach her bedroom, we're both completely naked. She climbs into her bed and then reaches out to pull me down against her. Any further foreplay is kept to a minimum. But because I'm driven by the need to touch her everywhere, I flutter my fingers against the soft, sweet warmth between her legs. I penetrate her once. Twice more and a third time before I find the rhythm I know she likes.
She moans her approval and lifts her hips against my palm, rolling them against hand as I thoroughly explore the slick depths of her. When her fingers begin to press harder into my forearm and I can feel her growing wetter, I gather her beneath me for another breathless kiss and replace my questing fingers with the tip of my erection. Our mutual cries of pleasure meld into one.
I sink deep, a groan of satisfaction rumbling in my throat when her slippery, vaginal muscles contract around me. We've done this dance a hundred times in our past but it still feels new. The heat of her, the sweet, yielding contours of her body drawing me deeper, pulsing around me so tightly will always take my breath away like the very first time. Her fingernails bite into my ass as I penetrate her again and again. Her guttural moans echo my ears. Our hips rock together in an indiscernible rhythm, bodies undulating, thrusting, moving back and forth, in and out, faster and harder.
My every muscle burns with exertion. My thighs. My back. My chest. And I can't stop. I'm motivated by pure need. I bury my face in her throat and we're racing for the finish together, moving faster and faster, our breaths coming serrated gasps, our bodies slick with perspiration.
When she finally comes, I can feel it wash over me. Her inner walls convulse spasmodically and she groans out my name long and low. She arches into me, grinding her hips against mine in slow, sensuous circles until I cry out and come with her, until I empty all of myself inside of her. Even then, I keep on thrusting through those last currents of sensation, until my orgasm gradually ebbs and I'm spent of everything. Afterwards, I collapse against her in exhaustion.
In that moment, I don't want to move at all. I keep my face tucked into the crook of her neck and let myself enjoy the feel of her damp body pressed to mine for a few minutes more before I finally find the motivation to roll away. But I immediately shift onto my side pull her back against me when I do, still craving contact with her warm, moist skin. She snuggles into the crook of my body with a contented sigh, her cheek pillowed against my inner arm.
In sweet, contented silence, I splay my hand over her lower abdomen, overwhelmed and humbled by the knowledge that our baby is growing inside of her. We actually made a baby. It's the first time that I think of it and feel nothing except incredible joy. I'm filled with awe and gratitude. I can feel my throat clog with emotion at the thought and, for a horrifying second, I think I might actually tear up. As if she senses that, Jane covers my hand with her own and then favors me with a bittersweet smile over her shoulder.
"I should have told you," she whispers in regret.
I lean forward to kiss her softly because I don't want to waste these precious moments we have together on regret. We've already lost too much time as it is. "I understand why you didn't," I whisper back, "But Jane, I want to be a part of this. No more lies, okay, and I mean that for me too. I want us to share every moment of your pregnancy from this point forward. Promise me."
She shifts onto her back so she can look at me directly and I know she does that because she wants me to see her sincerity when she says, "I promise. From this moment on, you and I are in this together, Michael. And, you're right. There shouldn't be any more lies between us."
"Good."
I press another kiss to her lips before moving down the length of her body to brush a softer kiss just below her navel. "I can hardly believe this is real," I mumble into her skin, "There's a baby inside of you." I imagine a little girl with her eyes and her smile and I can honestly say my heart feels full in that moment. I've never felt more content or at peace in my life. I lift my head to regard Jane with an enamored smile. "I think I love this baby already."
Jane brushes her fingertips across my cheek, her dark eyes soft with adoration as she looks at me. "I love you so much. This is what I've always wanted with you. I never thought I would have this chance again. I don't want us to waste this second chance we have, Michael."
Although I don't make a similar reply back to her when I press my lips to her belly once more and nibble a path across her skin, lower and lower until I'm kissing the most intimate part of her, I leave no doubt in her mind that I am in full agreement. I leave no doubt in her mind that I love her. More than anything. More than anyone. And I always will. I spend the next hour showing her with my lips and hands just how much.
Afterwards, we lay snuggled together, tangled in her bedsheets and each other and teetering on the edge of sleep. I'm just beginning to drift off when I hear her ask, "So now what happens?"
With my eyes closed, I smile at the question because the answer is so very easy. I don't have to think about it at all. "Now we get married and live happily ever after."
She tips her head up and I crack open one eye to find her smirking at me. "You're really quick with those proposals, aren't you?"
I thread my fingers through her tousled hair and favor her with a sleepy smile. "What can I say? When I know what I want, I go for it."
"Are you sure you're not asking me to marry you because you knocked me up?"
"Are you kidding? That's the only reason I'm asking you." My teasing earns me a warning pinch to my flank. I answer with a dramatic yelp. "Come on now, there's no cause for violence. Make love not war, Jane."
"I'm being serious, Michael," she says with a stern frown, "Yesterday you weren't even speaking to me and today…"
"…today I've spent the entire afternoon screwing you senseless," I finish irreverently, "Yeah, well again, what can I say? I'm a passionate sort of guy and I exercise the prerogative to change my mind."
"I'm going to kick you," Jane warns me even as she struggles to bite back her answering smile, "When I got up this morning, this was the last thing I expected to be doing with my afternoon. I honestly didn't think we'd ever have this again. I thought you would hate me forever."
"I've never hated you, Jane. I tried but I couldn't. Sometimes I think loving you is built into my DNA. It's always there. The only difference between then and now is that I'm willing to admit it and I'm not so angry about it anymore."
"So what changed?"
"On my way here I was thinking about what you said about the Universe always finding a way to put us back together," I tell her quietly, "And you were right, I think. I didn't want to admit it then because I was too scared to let myself love you but when Rafael told me about the baby it felt like…"
"Felt like what?" she prompts gently when I can't finish.
"Like we're meant to be together," I whisper, "In spite of all the hardships and misunderstandings and hurt, we keep finding our way back to each other. We keep finding reasons to choose each other. I think, maybe, we always will."
"Well, it's about damned time you figured that out, Cordero. What took you so long?"
"You may not know this but sometimes I can be very stubborn. Occupational hazard."
"No," she gasps in mock surprise, "Really? I couldn't tell."
I smile at her answer and lift my head to kiss her sweetly. "How did I ever think that I could walk away from you? You're my world, do you know that? Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"
She smiles back and tucks herself against my side with a contented sigh. "I have an idea. You're my world too."
