Warnings: some mild language, brief mention of homophobic slurs, mentions of past death

I did my best with the Spanish here, so if something is terribly wrong, please let me know so I can fix it. The same goes for the other form of communication used herein.

"Wow… you weren't kiddin', Marco," Mike said as they pulled up to Marco's mother's house, "This does look like the party of the year."

"I tried to tell you. There's no better fiesta in LA."

Cars were lined up around the block, though Marco managed to pull his '69 Charger right up to the house, as if there was some unwritten rule that the immediate family got spots in front of the house. From what Marco told him, this was the celebration of Sra. Santillian-Lopez's 88th birthday, so all sides of the family were converging on the Lopez household. Mike could already smell the food. His stomach growled loudly, and Marco laughed.

"C'mon, we'll go right in and find mi abuela, and then we can eat," Marco told him, "Now, Abuela Jesusa doesn't speak much English, solo español para mi abuela. I really think you'll like everyone Mike, and I'm sure they'll like you, too. I think… yeah, Abuela should be in here."

He took Mike by the elbow to help him maneuver through the house. It's hard to believe a family of eleven lived in here. It wasn't much bigger than a house for a family of four. There were a few people who greeted Marco and gave Mike a warm hello. He could hear people talking outside, chattering in an excited mix of English and Spanish. Mike felt very out of place, unused to being in the minority and suddenly very aware of it. Marco, as if sensing his discomfort, tightened his grip on Mike's elbow, and it set him at ease.

"Abuela Jesusa! Feliz cumpleaños!" Marco grinned.

"Ay, mi Marquiño! Mi bombero valeroso…"

Marco's abuela was a darling old woman, with silver hair and a kind, brown face. She and Marco exchanged a few words in Spanish, then Marco gestured Mike closer, saying, "Este es mi mejor amigo, Mike, desde la estación. Trabajamos juntas como bomberos."

Mike smiled, greeting the old woman, "Hola, Sra. Lopez. Mucho gusto," in a poor Spanish accent. She returned the smile with, "Igualmente," then said more Mike didn't understand. He looked to Marco, who translated, "She said she's very pleased to meet you, to finally meet someone I work with, and she's very happy you could come to her fiesta. The more people at a party, the happier it is. She hopes you will enjoy yourself and feel like one of the family… and she says to call her Abuela Jesusa like everyone else, not Sra. Lopez."

"Si, Abuela Jesusa."

"And she says your español needs a little work," Marco smirked.

"Well, then I suppose you'll just hafta help me out with it," Mike answered.

"Alright, Abuela, estaremos alrededor. Disfrute de su fiesta. Hasta luego."

Marco led Mike out to the yard, which was packed with people, adults and children. He found himself quickly introduced to Marco's siblings, to brothers Rogelio, Diego, and Aarón, and to sisters Adoración, Caridad, and Pilar. Once more, Mike held his tongue on asking where the other two siblings were. Everyone was incredibly kind, offering Mike plates of food, wanting to try everything that had been made. Marco's mother was the chief culprit, calling Mike 'flaco' and trying to feed him up.

She insisted Mike call her Rosario and talked his ear off asking questions about their work, but Mike liked her very much. She was a plump woman but not fat, streaks of grey in her dark hair, her skin the exact shade of tan as her son. Rosario brought over another plate of food, saying, "I've been telling Marquiño for years now to invite his firemen friends to our big fiestas. You work with him like that, with each other like that, you become familia, and if you are Marco's familia, then you are our familia, too."

"I'm-? I'm the first guy from the department he's invited over, then?"

"Si. Mi Marquiño has told me so much about you, Mike. He is telling me always about what a good cook you are, how the two of you enjoy cooking and spending your time together. He thinks of you as a very good friend, su amigo mejor. Truly… I could not believe it when he told me about you for the first time. Do you know what your name is en español, Mike?"

"Uh… Miguel, I think."

"Exactamente. Miguel," Rosario told him, her voice lowering, her expression softening, "I had a Miguelito once, between mi Adoración y mi Caridad. He was-… ask Marco. Ask him later. I know he wants to tell you. He only waits for you to ask him. Oh," she sighed quietly, placing a hand on Mike's cheek, "I know he would have been as handsome as you were he here. Bien, you finish eating, Mike. It's been good speaking with you."

He watched her wave down Marco's older sister, Caridad and the woman she brought with her. Mike set his plate aside, no longer hungry.

"Mike, are you alright?" Marco asked coming over, "You look kinda down."

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm alright, just-… I'm not really used to bein' around so many people at once. It's a little overwhelming, honestly."

"Do you wanna go home?"

"No, I'm alright, really. I'm enjoying myself, Marco. I just need to… sit quietly for a minute."

There's that look again, the lie detector. Marco scrutinized Mike carefully for a long moment, then sat down beside him, picking a plate of fruit he had with him.

"Who's that woman your sister brought? Caridad's friend?" Mike queried after a brief, companionable silence.

"Hmm? Oh, that's Maristela, Cari's girlfriend."

Mike almost choked on his beer.

"Girl-? Wha-?"

Marco shrugged, "They've been together for almost… seven years now. They live together and everything. Actually, they're pretty much married in every way but on paper."

"And your family's okay with it? With her bein' a-a-?"

"A lesbian? Yeah, they are now," Marco replied calmly, "They weren't at first, for about a year, but they came around when they realized she wasn't gonna change. Now, they're just Tia Cari and Tia Mari. The kids are the best at accepting it, really. It's kinda nice."

Mike felt his heart pounding in his chest. He asked, "Nice?" knowing the next words from Marco would be some of the most important he's ever heard.

"That the kids and family are so accepting," he replied easily, "I mean, we've seen a ton of different kinds of people on the job, and well… everyone deserves the same treatment from us, deserves quality treatment, deserves our kindness and respect on the worst day of their lives. I don't think it should be any different when we're off-duty. We all bleed red, as they say. What difference does it make who they fall in love with and choose to spend their lives with? It doesn't."

He turned those dark brown eyes on Mike, wearing a calm expression, a simple that told Mike he believed his words couldn't be plainer. They sat close together on the bench, close enough for their knees to touch. Mike remembered a run they had about three weeks before, where some guy thought it would be a great idea to torch a gay bar with the patrons still inside. He'd been arrested at the scene, having been found screaming his head off about 'fags' and 'queers' and 'filthy homos' and being beaten within an inch of his life by said queers. Mike had been horrified by the level of malice required for this man to set fire to a building full of people… and later angry by the fact that not one major news outlet mentioned it. Twenty people were hospitalized by an act of cruelty and terror, and no one seemed to care.

Mike looked out over the assembled party. He and Marco were at a picnic bench under a tree, sitting in the shade where Mike had moved to keep from being sunburnt and keep out of the hubbub. Children laughed and shouted all over the place. People chatted happily in English and Spanish, picking at plates of food.

"Thanks for inviting me, Marco," Mike said quietly, "I'm glad I'm here."

"I'm glad you're here, too. Mama really likes you, y'know. She can't get enough of-"

"What happened to your brother, Miguel?" Mike blurted out, unable to hold back the question any longer and feeling like an asshole for bringing it up.

Marco sighed, "I guess Mama mentioned him?"

"Yeah… she did."

"That's why you were so down earlier, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. She, uh… she said you talked about me a lot and that she was surprised when you said what my name was… because it was basically your brother's name."

Marco's head tipped down, and he set his plate of fruit aside. Mike spoke up, "I'm sorry, Marco, I didn't mean to make you upset. I just-… I couldn't stop-… shit, I'm sorry-," but Marco stepped in, "No, it's fine. I've been meaning to tell you about it, just… it's not very easy to talk about."

Marco took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, steadying sigh.

"Miguel was older than me by three years, and we were pretty close. He made some dumb decisions when he was a kid, fell into the wrong crowd, started hangin' out with gangsters and shit like that. Then came the alcohol and the drugs and the violence… and at age nineteen he was gunned down by a rival gang. I-… I saw it happen."

Mike's stomach twisted unhappily. He rested a hand on Marco's shoulder, squeezing it gently and telling him, "Oh, God… I'm sorry, Marco. That's-that's horrible."

"It was. I was sixteen," Marco continued in a soft voice, "We went to the corner store for a snack, and they shot him in broad daylight about a block from here. Killed him outright. Almost killed me, too. I took a bullet through the stomach, which doesn't kill quite as fast as a bullet to the head. I remember I woke up from surgery and started to cry my eyes out because the first thing I remembered was that I watched my brother die. Honestly… sometimes, I still feel like that. Not as often as when it first happened, but-… well, something like that never goes away."

Marco picked his head up and looked at Mike. He'd never seen such a deep sadness before. It was a sadness borne for years, held deep inside, kept secret from everyone. Marco added, "I think the worst thing about it is knowing it was partly his fault, that if he hadn't been a-a gangbanger, he probably wouldn't be dead. I don't wanna blame him, but… some of the blame is-… was his. I was sixteen, and just like that, mi hermano was gunned down right in front of me… mi hermano Miguel."

"That had to be rough on your parents, too."

"Papa was already dead, and maybe that was part of the problem. It was really hard on Mama, when we lost my youngest sister the year before, Teresa, to meningitis and pneumonia. I think that was worse. She was only nine."

Mike's hand left Marco's shoulder and slipped down to his lower back, trying to be a comforting presence. Marco leaned into him slightly, and Mike's thumb absently stroked at his back, allowing himself to perform the risky maneuver since no one could see. Words seemed useless. What could I possibly say to make this better? Nothing he hasn't already heard.

"You're a good friend, Mike… a good man," Marco said quietly, "This is gonna sound-… uh, well, I'm glad I met you. There are times I think about it, and I realize how blessed I am to know you."

Heat crept into Mike's face, warmth flooding his cheeks. Marco was the only person to make him feel like this since his teens, to make him feel light and warm and comfortable and happy. He looked so perfect and handsome there under the broken sunlight filtering through the naked branches of the tree, his eyes a deep, dark golden-brown. Now, he'd laid out a whole secret part of his life to Mike, something he'd kept buried for many years.

"I-… that's-… well, I-I feel the same way, Marco," Mike replied softly.

"Marco! Mike! Hurry up! It's time for Abuela Jesusa's cake! Come on!" Pilar called.

The two firemen rose to their feet and jogged toward the house with everyone else.

xXxXx

"You're sure it's alright for me to come to dinner at your parents', Mike?" Marco asked, still a little nervous.

"Of course. I invited you. Mom and Dad have wanted me to come to dinner for a while now, and I wanted to return the favor from when you invited me to Abuela Jesusa's birthday party a couple weeks ago," Mike replied, guiding his D100 along the highway toward Topanga Canyon, "Plus, they wanna meet you. I might've mentioned your name once or twice."

"So you're talkin' about me now?"

"Only good things, man. Only good things."

Marco's nervousness was not eased. Topanga Canyon was known for money and wealth. He pictured big houses with manicured lawns, a place so unlike the place he grew up. Mike had told him his dad was a lawyer, that he'd fought in WWII, and that his sister and her family lived with them, but nothing else. A little thrill had run through Marco when Mike invited him to a family dinner. The two of them grew closer at Abuela's party, helped by Marco's honesty about his family history. Mike pulled his truck up to a large, handsome house on the outskirts of Topanga Canyon.

"Wow… is this where you grew up?" Marco asked.

"Uh… yeah. This is the ol' homestead."

He put the truck in park but made no move to get out. Marco's gaze briefly dropped to see his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Mike sighed, saying, "I'm-… I've been keepin' a-a pretty big secret about my family of my own, Marco, and honestly, I-I don't really know why."

Marco said nothing, giving Mike time to put his words together.

"When-… when you meet my parents," Mike said slowly, color in his cheeks, "do this… copy me…"

Mike brought his hands up, sliding his right palm over his left, then stuck his index fingers up, left in front of right, and brought them together. When Marco copied him to his satisfaction, he made a series of shapes with his hand for Marco to repeat, at one point reaching out and helping put his fingers in the right place.

"Good… that's good… Now, you can say 'Nice to meet you, I'm Marco,' in sign language."

"Your parents are deaf?"

"Since the day I was born."

"Why didn't you say before?"

"Like I said, I dunno. I'm not ashamed of them, of them being deaf, it's just-… I dunno. I guess I don't want people feelin' sorry for me… or for them," Mike said quietly, "There's no reason to pity us, but I know people will, so I just kinda keep a secret. I know I shoulda told you sooner."

"Well, I know now. At least you told me before I got in there and looked like an idiot."

They shared a smile and finally exited the truck. Mike led him inside, where they were greeted by a woman with hair the same deep brown as Mike, her face just beginning to show signs of age in the first lines at the corners of her light brown eyes.

"Hi, Libby. How ya been?"

"Oh, just fine, Mike. Just fine," Libby answered, "Oh, you must be Marco. I'm Libby Carlisle, Mike's sister. He's just told us so much about you, and all of it wonderful. Here, come on in. Mom and Dad are in the living room with George and Rose and Violet. I've just got a little to finish in the kitchen."

Marco was starting to feel nervous now, not wanting to screw up the greeting he'd been taught just minutes earlier. He actually stopped Mike before they went into the living room to practice one last time, trying to ignore the warm flutter in his stomach when Mike smiled and gently corrected the placement of his fingers.

"Mom, Dad, this is my friend I've been telling you about," Mike said, signing at the same time, his hands and fingers elegantly weaving words.

Mike gave Marco a little nudge, and he repeated the signs Mike taught him, his own fingers clumsy and unsure. Mr. and Mrs. Stoker smiled kindly. Mike and his sister resembled their mother most in terms of facial features and coloring, though Mike's height and blue eyes came from their father. Mrs. Stoker began signing while Mike translated, "Hi, Marco. I'm Susan, and this is my husband, Edgar. We're very pleased to meet you. Mike's told us so much about you."

"Oh, Marco, this is my brother-in-law, George," Mike spoke up, still signing, "and my nieces, Rose and Violet. Guys, this is my good friend Marco, from the station."

Rose was a willowy girl of about twelve, wearing her auburn hair in a long braid with a ribbon, whereas Violet was a sturdy child of maybe seven or eight, still with baby fat and brown ringlets in pigtails. George shook his hand firmly. Mike added, "They're all hearing, but we like to sign in front of the girls so they keep learning. It really seems to work well."

"Rosie, Vi, come with me," George said, beckoning the girls, also signing though not as fluidly as Mike, "We're gonna go see if we can help Mommy in the kitchen, okay? Let Uncle Mike and his friend catch up with Pappy and Gramma. C'mere…"

Marco was honestly surprised when Mr. Stoker spoke, "How've you been, Mike? We don't hear from you often enough."

"I'm just very busy at the station," Mike explained, "We usually have a lot going on, plus they like me to cook a lot."

Mrs. Stoker began signing, and Mike replied, "I know I'm a good cook, Mom, but it keeps me busy. Marco, too."

He waited for his mother to sign again.

"Yes, Marco likes to cook, too. I told you that the last time I was here."

"That was months ago," Mr. Stoker stated, then translated for his wife, "You don't come around often enough. Only a few times a year. And this is the first time we've met any of the firemen you work with. Sometimes, I think you're ashamed of us, Mike."

"Mom, you know that's not true."

"Then why?"

"Can we not argue in front of Marco?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows to emphasize his signing.

Marco was grateful for the intervention. The conversation lightened to questions of how work had been, how Mike and Marco met, what they did in their free time. Mike easily translated as Marco spoke, his rough hands forming the elegant motions.

"Dinner's ready!" Libby called from the kitchen.

Mike alerted his parents, letting them go in front so he could walk behind with Marco.

"Are you having a good time?" he asked.

"I am. I thought it would be really weird at first, when you first told me they were deaf, but I really am having a great time. Your parents are really nice. Just… well, I thought you said both your parents were deaf, but your dad was talking."

"I promise to tell you on the way home," Mike replied, "It's kind of a long story. For now, I think we should just eat."

Marco took a seat beside Mike and found himself fielding similar questions from before.

"So, you're a fireman like Uncle Mike?" Rose asked.

"Yup, we started working together when we transferred to Station 51," Marco explained, "We were all new to the station because it was new built. They put out a notice for guys to transfer over. We were lucky enough to be put on the same shift."

"Is Uncle Mike your best friend?" Violet piped up.

He smiled, answering honestly, "Yes. Your Uncle Mike is my best friend."

Something in him hated that, though. He liked being Mike's friend well enough, but he wanted more. They just fit so perfectly together, could already half-read each other's mind, felt so easy and calm with one another. It was as if they had known each other for decades. Abuela Jesusa always said that when a person meets their soulmate, everything just feels right. There's no sparks, no fireworks, no fanfare. You just know because your heart feels right. That's how he felt with Mike. Meeting him was the best thing to ever happen to Marco. He hoped Mike felt the same.

"Now, Marco, Mike has told us a lot about you, especially your cooking," Libby told him, smiling, "We heard all about the new captain's welcome dinner. Maybe we'll have to have the two of you cook for us sometime."

"I'd be happy to do it, but if Mike's helping, then I guess it's partly his decision, too."

"I guess I could help, as long as you make something good."

"Everything I make is good."

"You made chili for breakfast the other day."

"So?"

"So who has chili for breakfast?"

"Mexicans do! All the time! Mi abuelo on Mama's side lived to be over a hundred, and he had chili almost every day."

"And what did he die of?"

"What did he die of? Old age! He was over a hundred!"

George almost spit out his drink. God, we even fight like an old married couple. He was the only one Mike would have these verbal sparring matches with. With the others, Mike would just lob a brutal one-liner and return to silence with a smirk. Guess he just knows how to make a guy feel special. Mike made a few signs to his mother, and Marco watched intently, thinking about having those hands all over his body. He's had a few dreams already, dreams of roaming hands and lips, of touching and kissing and sucking. They're the best dreams he'd ever had.

The two of them left fairly early, needing to work the next morning. Marco thanked everyone (and learned how to do so in sign language), and Mrs. Stoker invited him back any time.

"Thanks for inviting me, Mike. I really enjoyed meeting your family," Marco told him once they were out in his truck.

"Well, I wanna thank you for coming," Mike replied, "Everyone likes you, especially Mom. She said so herself. You acted normal, too, which is more than I can say for most people."

"Hey, you promised to tell me more about them, about your parents."

"Well, my mom was born deaf. She went to special schools and everything to learn how to sign and get along in the hearing world. When she married Dad, he was hearing, actually. They knew each other because their fathers worked together in the same law firm. Honestly, the story's really cute. My dad started learning sign so he could take my mom out on a date and they could talk to each other. They got married a year later.

"Libby was born not long after, but Dad joined the Navy right after Pearl Harbor, when I wasn't quite six months. That's when he lost his hearing. Dad's not completely deaf, but he needs a hearing aid to hear even moderately well. It's good he already knew how to sign pretty much. Me and Libby grew up signing with our parents, and we spoke verbally to Aunt Stella. It worked out really well. Libby does some translation in her free time, actually, like if you would translate for someone who only spoke Spanish and didn't even understand listening to English."

"I do do that. I've done it plenty of times on scene."

"Yeah, but you don't get paid for it. Anyway, that's the deal. That's really it. I mean, I had a regular childhood like anyone else: had a sister, played with neighbor kids, did sports, everything kids from hearing families did," Mike stated with a shrug.

"I think it's incredible," Marco replied, "especially the story about your parents. It was sweet of your dad to start learning a whole new language so he could communicate with your mom."

"They always say love can make people do amazing things… incredible things…"

His voice was soft, and Marco thought he heard a note of hope there. He hoped he did, anyway. He wanted to. I'll do it for you, Mike. I'd learn to sign so we could talk like that, and I would teach you every word of Spanish if you wanted. Mike pulled up to Marco's apartment building.

"You want some coffee, Mike?"

Blue eyes regarded him carefully, for what felt like a long moment.

"Sure, I'd like that."

Marco kept himself from jumping for joy, but he couldn't keep a grin from breaking out on his face.