Warnings: mild language, character death (OC).

"There you are, Marco!" Caridad greeted him and Mike, "We were beginning to think you weren't coming!"

"Wouldn't miss dinner here for anything, mi hermana," Marco replied, "We were caught in traffic on the way here. Some overturned truck or something. Thankfully nothing burned, or we might never have got here."

"Is that why you're so late?" Maristela asked, smirking, "You stop to help out?"

"Nah, they had plenty of guys there on scene. They didn't need us off-duty guys gettin' in the way. Now where's Mama y Abuela Jesusa? I'm sure they're more upset at our bein' late than anyone…"

Mama was in the kitchen, while Abuela sat in the living room with Rogelio's twins, a set of seven-year-olds named Roberto and Raquel. Marco's older nieces came running out from a back room, shouting, "Tio Marco! Tio Marco's here!" and giggling. Ay, Luisa and Soledad get bigger all the time! Marco hugged the girls, looking them over. Luisa was twelve and tall for her age, her dark hair up in a long ponytail, whereas Soledad was small and nine, her grin full of missing teeth. They quickly tired of Marco, though, and turned their attentions on Mike.

"They think he's cute," Caridad whispered.

"Do they now?"

She opened her mouth to say more, but Mama came out of the kitchen, saying, "Ay, there's mi Marquiño! Why are you so late, mi niño? Migue, did you not keep him on time?"

Mike smiled apologetically, telling her, "It wasn't our fault. A truck rolled on the highway and got stuck."

"Well, you're both here now, so let's hurry and get ready for dinner. Marco, Rogelio, ayude a su abuela. Ayúdele a la mesa, por favor, mis hijos maravillosos. Migue, no, you sit. Usted no necesita hacer nada, siéntese…"

Marco followed his older brother into the living room, carefully shooing out the twins. Abuela Jesusa had not been doing well of late, not since her last birthday party about ten months ago. Honestly, I'm not sure she'll see the next one. Abuela had always looked old, but now she looked elderly, looked frail and breakable. Marco swallowed against the lump that rose unexpectedly in his throat.

Dinner was a more subdued affair than usual, without the whole family present. Caridad and Maristela were there, and Rogelio and Inez, along with their children Luisa, Soledad, Roberto, and Raquel, plus Marco and Mike. That was it. Still, it was quieter even than affair of this number should have been, and Marco could guess why. Everyone must have felt what he did. He brought it up to Caridad after dinner.

"Yeah, we noticed, too," she replied quietly, "Stela and I were thinking of moving in with Mama just to help. She can't be having an easy time of it right now. Stela's a nurse. She knows… she can sense it."

"Did something happen that no one told me about? Like and injury or an illness?"

"No. She's just… gone downhill for the last month. She had a dream about Abuelo Mateo, and then it started from there. Mama said it's un signo de Dios, a sign from God. She prays Abuela goes quietly and without pain."

"What does Stela say? Does she have any ideas?"

"Abuela's old. Stela says it just happens sometimes, just like this, a quick downhill spiral. Mama said she thinks it'll be soon."

Marco sighed and scrubbed at his face, muttering, "Damn… dammit, dammit, dammit…"

"Here, Marquiño, let's talk about happy things for a while," Caridad spoke up, "We can hold off on being sad until we need to be. Tell me something happy, Marco. Why don't you tell me about you and Mike?"

"What about me and Mike?"

"You can't lie to me, hermanito, I see things clearly."

He dropped his gaze, a flush creeping into his face. Caridad spoke again, "Seeing the two of you together makes me so happy, Marco, because I can see how happy you are together. I can see that he loves you, and that you love him in return. Don't be afraid to love him, to be who you are."

"It's not as easy for us as it is for you. I-I dunno, Caricita, I feel like maybe people are more accepting of lesbians than gay men, especially in our job. Some guys in the department really hate queers. It's bad. I've seen guys get outed and get gone in all of a couple weeks, if that. These were guys that were vets of the department, that had been there for years, that were well-respected, and just like that, everything they had was gone. We can't risk that."

It was Caridad's turn to sigh, and she asked, "But you do love him?"

"Yeah… yeah, I do."

"And are you happy?"

"I'm not sure I've ever been happier."

"Then it'll all work out in the end. It has to. You two are meant for each other, el sol y la luna."

"Oh, don't say that… you know that the sun and moon can never be together," Marco told her.

"La luna y las estrellas, then. They're always in the sky together. Always."

Marco wrapped his arms around his sister, thanking her softly. He and Mike excused themselves not long after, needing to be at work in the morning. Caridad and Maristela promised to keep him informed of anything that happened.

"Is everything alright, Marco?" Mike asked out in the car, "You seem a little down."

"It's nothing, Mike, really, I just-"

"Don't lie to me. Something's bothering you. I know it."

"I don't want you worrying."

"Too late. I'm already worried, so you might as well tell me."

"When we get home… can it wait 'til we get home, querido?" Marco asked.

Mike agreed silently, though Marco didn't enjoy the quiet ride home. The quiet wasn't a comfortable one like usual. It felt forced. He didn't like it one bit. In the safety of their apartment, Mike gave him a gentle kiss and wrapped his arms around him, whispering, "Babe, tell me what's the matter… please…"

"Es mi Abuela Jesusa," Marco murmured after a moment, "You saw her tonight, Mike… she doesn't look well. She-… Maristela says she won't last much longer… and Mama said there was a sign from God, a dream Abuela had about Abuelo Mateo, her late husband. I could tell by looking it won't be long. Everyone could tell. You saw how subdued everyone was. It's-"

His voice caught in his throat, and he had to choke back an unexpected sob. Mike tightened his embrace, shushing him gently, saying, "It's gonna be alright, Marco. You'll be alright. So will your family."

"I know, but… It's just hard to think about, to know… it's heavy, I mean."

"Yeah, I know…"

"I don't wanna be sad, though, Mike," Marco told him, "I don't. Abuela's lived a good, long life. She's seen more sadness and happiness than anyone. She deserves a rest, but I-… I just-…"

"You'll miss her. You will. It's a fact of life. She's been there for you your whole life, and now you know she won't be there much longer," Mike explained softly, "Listen, babe, it's okay to feel sad about that. It's okay to be sad. I'll be here for you no matter what, okay? I promise."

"Okay… okay… Can-? Can we go to bed? I'm really tired."

"Of course, babe. Whatever you need."

xXxXx

Mike always liked going home to see his parents. There was something comforting about the house he grew up in and the familiar flow of signing that was a native language to him.

-Mike, I can tell you have a lot on your mind-, his mother signed, alone with him in the kitchen, -I can always tell when you're thinking too much. You get little lines in your forehead. Is it work?-

-Kind of. It's someone I work with.-

-Are you having problems with them?-

-No, Mom. It's complicated.-

-It's Marco, isn't it? The man you've brought over a couple times?-

Mike smiled quietly.

-Nothing gets by you, does it?-

-You had a fight?-

-No. No fight.-

-Then what?-

Mike sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His mother watched him patiently, waiting for him to start signing again. He brought his hands up but dropped them again, like someone opening their mouth and snapping it shut, and licked his lips nervously. After a long moment, he raised them again, asking, -You know Marco and I are living together, right?-

His mom offered a knowing smirk, replying, -Oh, I know all about you and Marco. A mother always knows.-

Heat crept into his face. She added, -I can tell you love him very much and that he loves you very much. That's why I can't believe there's a problem between you two.-

-There's no problem between us,- he explained, -It is hard sometimes because we have to keep it a secret, but that may change one day, and we're happy as long as we have each other. Just-… I feel sad, Mom.-

-Sad? Why?-

-Marco's grandmother is sick. She's going to die soon, and Marco's very upset about it. I don't know how to make him feel better. I'm sad for him. How do I make him feel better?-

-You don't,- she answered simply, -There is no making it better. Loss is painful, and her death will hurt him no matter what… but you can be there for him. You can help share his pain. He will need the comfort of someone who loves him in his sadness. All you can do is be there for him, but that will be enough.-

-Will it?-

He wanted it to be enough, but he wasn't sure it would be. He wanted to take Marco's pain away, wanted him to never feel sad again. Mom's expression softened, and she laid a palm against his cheek.

-My sweet little boy… always wanting to help others, especially the ones you love. Trust me, what you do for Marco will be enough, and he will love you for it. I'm happy for you.-

Mike ducked his head, tears blurring his vision. He flattened his palm, brought it up to touch his fingertips to his chin, and brought it back down, palm up. Mom smiled.

-You're welcome.-

He went home before it got too late. Marco was sitting up waiting for him, absently watching TV. Both cats came trotting over to greet him and rub against his legs. Mike obediently bent to pet them.

"How was everything at your folks'?" Marco asked.

Mike lifted his hands, ready to sign his answer, but managed to stop himself and verbally replied, "It was good. Just nice to get over and see 'em. How's Abuela Jesusa?"

Marco sighed long and low, answering, "Not good. She's… Stela got her admitted to the hospital today. They say it won't be long now, an-and I can see it, too."

He turned to look at Mike finally, fixing him with wet, red-rimmed eyes. Mike's heart sank. He's been crying. He's been crying, and I haven't been here for him. He breathed, "Oh, babe," and immediately went to wrap his arms around Marco. The other man's breath hitched as he tried not to cry out loud. Mike rubbed his back, stroked his hair, but he said nothing. Words were useless at this point.

"Mike? Querido, would-… would you come with me to the hospital tomorrow?"

"Sure, if you want me to… but I wouldn't wanna intrude. That's a time for your family to-"

"You are family. You can be there… I-I need you there, Mike. I need you there with me."

"Then wild horses couldn't keep me away," Mike replied without hesitation.

He kissed Marco's forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his lips. Marco sniffed. Mike whispered, "Marco, I promise I will always be there if you need me. I love you so much, and I want to be there to take care of you."

Marco's lip trembled, making Mike fully aware of what he's just said.

"Mike… Mike, I love you, too."

Mike smiled softly in spite of himself, in spite of the situation. They'd felt the words all along, that was for certain, but saying them aloud them real and tangible and wonderfully true. He kissed Marco again, gently, soothingly, trying to ensure it completely encapsulated his love for him. And I do love him… more than I've ever loved anyone.

"C'mon, babe… let's go to bed," Mike suggested quietly, "Some sleep'll help."

"It won't. It won't be better."

"No, it won't. It's still gonna hurt, but at least you won't be tired. C'mon… come with me…"

Marco allowed himself to be led into the bedroom they now shared. Both men stripped down to their shorts and climbed into bed together. Mike wrapped his arms around Marco, holding him tight, and Marco curled up against him, twining their legs. He ran his fingers through the silky black hair, enjoying the feeling of the warm body pressed to his. We'll be alright. We'll go through hell, but we'll be alright. He dropped a kiss to Marco's hair, desperately wishing it was enough to ease the pain.

A hospital would not be Mike's first choice for a good place to spend his final days. He would much rather die in his home, surrounded by family and familiarity, not in a hospital being treated like just another case, another patient, another bed. There was nothing warm and familiar and comforting about a hospital. Mike kept half-hoping Caridad and Maristela and Marco would come to their senses and take Abuela Jesusa home to die, but that never happened. Instead, the whole family crowded into the tiny hospital room, immediate family and their significant others closest to the bed, so Mike was given a front row seat to the family's grief.

I suppose this is as close we'll get to a coming out. I mean, this isn't exactly something you bring someone who's just a friend to, no matter how good a friend they are. Marco clung to his hand, perhaps needing an anchor, something to keep him tethered as his grief threatened to carry him off. Mike gripped back. He could remember the horrible waiting from when his Aunt Stella died, remembered watching her slowly succumb to illness and age… remembered watching her succumb in an eerily similar hospital room. He suppressed the shudder that crawled up his spine and squeezed Marco's hand a little tighter. Marco tensed beside him, and Mike tried to calm him without words. He didn't want to upset him any more than he already was. Marco didn't need that. Mike squeezed his hand.

xXxXx

"Hey, Mike, you wanna come into the office for a minute?" Hank asked.

The engineer looked up from the couch where he'd been lavishing attention on Boot and rose to follow Hank into the office, where Hank bid him to sit. Mike was routinely quiet, but in the last couple of days he'd been absolutely silent, only speaking when directly spoken to and only using the minimum amount of words needed.

"Mike, is everything alright?" Hank asked, sitting not behind his desk but beside the other man, "I know Marco's been having an awful time 'cause of his grandmother dying, but you haven't come to me with any problems even though you seem kinda bothered. Now, you live with Marco. Is what's goin' on with you related his grandmother?"

He nodded, and it was a moment before he spoke up, "It's just hard, Cap. It's hard to watch him be so sad when there's nothing I can do to help, nothing I can do to make it better. I mean, it doesn't help that I've met Abuela Jesusa, that I like her and know her… so I guess this whole thing is makin' me pretty sad, too."

Mike was staring down at his lap, looking at his own twitching fingers. Hank sighed quietly. He'd been in this department for a little over eleven years now, and he was anything but stupid. Some of his past captains treated him otherwise, but Hank was observant man. He was a captain, after all. He had to be observant, especially when it came to his men. Hank's job wasn't to be their father or big brother, but he was there to be a mentor, someone they would come to with questions of either a professional or personal matter.

Soon after arriving at 51s, however, it became rapidly apparent that Hank might not be completely qualified to answer some of the personal questions they might have… particularly Mike and Marco. Now, Hank worked to be a tolerant man, he really did. He tried his hardest to rid himself of the prejudices his parents had instilled in him over the course of his life, worked to get rid of the racism against any and every minority, actively sought stations at the start of his career that had more minority firemen to get over such thoughts, and so far it's worked. There was still one more hurdle, though.

Like many firemen, Hank was wary of having homosexuals in the department. They were men who liked looking at and having sex with other men, maybe even men they worked with, and that made him (and plenty of others) uncomfortable. It wasn't right or natural or anything like that… or so he'd thought. He and his men were at the Blue Moon, the gay club that was set ablaze when a man threw a Molotov cocktail into a bar full of patrons, injuring a number of people, some severely.

That had blown Hank's mind. He couldn't believe someone could be so full of hate as to try and brutally murder a building full of people. The victims were all helping each other out, helping the firemen, helping the paramedics. Some of them were doctors and nurses and orderlies. Just like any other victims of any other tragic fire, they held each other and cried and tried to make sure their friends and loved ones were safe and wondered why this horrible thing happened. It made Hank think, really think. What were these people doing that was worthy of hatred? Their only crime was loving someone, and how could love be a crime?

He looked at the fireman sitting beside him. He'd had suspicions about Mike and Marco from the very beginning. There were guys who worked together well, and then there were guys who worked together too well. Add that to the hushed discussions between Chet and Johnny that set Roy's eyes rolling, to their sudden moving in together, to their being all but inseparable, and Hank felt the case was pretty clear. Especially now… I know exactly how he feels right now. I felt the same way when my wife's father died. Sure, I was upset, but seeing her like that and knowing I couldn't fix it was the worst. Any doubts Hank still had were being dragged out to sea.

Hank settled a hand on Mike's shoulder, causing Mike to look up at him, and quietly told him, "It's always hard to watch people you care about suffer like that. Hard to watch when they're sad, when they're sick, when they're angry at the world. The hardest part is knowing it's all outta your hands. You're an engineer, so you kinda know the feeling already. It can be hard enough to deal with at work, but when it's someone you're with all the time, someone you care about, it-it's a hundred times worse. Trust me, I know."

"How do I deal with it, Cap?"

"How do you deal with it at work? You just have to accept it's outta your control. Accept that it's a part of life. Then-… well, then you just have to be there for them. Is Marco okay?"

Mike shrugged, answering, "I-I guess… I mean, he's as okay as he can be under the circumstances. He's just-… he doesn't wanna be sad, but he is. There's really no way not to be sad when somethin' like this happens, when someone who's been there for you your whole life is gonna die. I've been through it myself before, so I think the worst part is that I know exactly how he feels. I know the grief, the waiting, wondering if every phone call would be the one saying the person died. They die a hundred times in your mind before they actually do."

He ducked his head, but Hank caught a glimpse of tears in the blue eyes. Hank tightened his grip on Mike's shoulder and said, "If you need to leave, too, you tell me, Mike. I won't ask any questions or make any judgments, especially if you think Marco shouldn't be alone just now."

"No, he's got all his family there with him," Mike replied, "They have plenty of arrangements to make, after all. It should be a sizeable funeral, what with how many people are in the family."

"Would you be going to the funeral?"

"I think so. By all counts, Abuela Jesusa doesn't have very long, so the funeral should be within a couple weeks."

"Let us know what's goin' on, okay? We all wanna be there for Marco."

"I will, Cap."

"Good. Now, is there anything else I can help you with? Anything else you wanna talk about?"

Mike shook his head. Hank dismissed him, watching his engineer slip out into the bay. It'll be okay… but for a while it's not gonna feel great. He dropped into his chair, scrubbing at his face, and picked up the phone to call his wife. Marco's mother probably needed some helping hands… and some friendly hearts.

xXxXx

Jesusa Maria Santillian-Lopez was buried on a Wednesday. The wake had taken place the day before, and Marco had insisted Mike go to work rather than sit home with the grieving family. Mike put up a bit of a fight over it ("Please, Marco, I wanna stay with you. I don't want you alone."), but Marco won out. The shift showed up at the Lopez house to pay their respects, arriving in the squad and Cap's sedan. Marco's replacement stayed outside, letting everyone else go in. Rosario was overwhelmed with gratitude, and Marco looked equally grateful to see his friends.

They were all there for the funeral the next day, sitting together in simple black suits. Mike and Marco had another small argument that morning.

"You should sit with the guys at the church, querido," Marco told him, "I think they're already a little suspicious, and we need to be careful."

"I don't wanna be careful. I wanna be with you. I wanna be there for you, babe."

"You will be there for me. I'll know exactly where you are, and I'll know you're there because I asked you to be there. I-… I wish we didn't have to worry about what everyone else thought, but we do. Mike, I promise I'll be alright… 'cause I know I'll be coming home with you."

Mike leaned in to give him a gentle kiss, pulling him into an embrace. An hour later, he was sitting with his shiftmates, a few rows removed from the immediate family. Mike remembered the ceremony, was pulled back to the day of his Aunt Stella's funeral, held in a Catholic church much like this one, with marble and gilded portraits of saints and Christ and the Virgin Mary. He fought back the memories. They weren't good, would only upset him. He could hear people crying up at the front and belatedly realized he hadn't seen Marco really cry. There were a few tears when it all first happened, but Mike couldn't be sure the man had truly grieved. Of course, people grieve differently from one person to another. I just wanna be sure he's okay. Mike got the feeling that Marco had to do a lot of being strong for everyone else and hiding his own grief.

The burial was as well attended as the funeral, a multitude descending on the cemetery, but Mike was still back with his shiftmates. Cap and Roy were somber and stoic, where Chet and Johnny were trying to imitate them. Mike wasn't sure what emotions were showing on his face. He looked to Marco, and something clenched in his chest, burned in his stomach. He longed to stand beside the man he loved, longed to simply be able to hold his hand and comfort him in his time of grief, longed for the day they could be as open and free as anyone else. Not while we're both firemen… maybe not while either of us is a fireman. Tears burned in Mike's eyes, and he cast his gaze at the ground. He jumped, feeling someone touch his arm at about the elbow. Chet's blue eyes were apologetic and sad, his grip warm on Mike's arm.

Mike often wondered if the guys were really suspicious or if they were just paranoid. Cap's comments the other day leaned toward the former, as had some made by Chet not long ago, though Mike hadn't noticed anything solid from either Roy or Johnny… but that's not to say it never happened, just that Mike had never noticed it. No one at their apartment building had said anything to that effect, although it wasn't uncommon for bachelors to share an apartment these days. In any case, it was better for them to be safe than sorry.

The first outburst of laughter at the luncheon was a surprise. The firemen were sitting together, picking at plates of food, when Marco's youngest sister Pilar started laughing loudly. Mike had never heard laughter at a post-funeral luncheon before, certainly not his Aunt Stella's so many years ago. The outburst was like a river overflowing its banks, flooding into other people, prompting them to share stories of Abuela Jesusa, stories of good times. Marco made his way to their table with a story from when he was kid.

"I think I was about… four," Marco explained, "Me and some of the older kids were being watched by Abuela while Mama took Pilar with her to a doctor's appointment. Abuela kept plenty of toys for us to play with at the house, but the rule was whatever we got out to play with, we had to put away when we were done. Well, I couldn't reach something I wanted to play with, so Abuela got it down for me. When it was time to clean up, I didn't put it away, and so Abuela told me to put it away. I told her I didn't get it out, and when she asked who did, I said it was her. Abuela was havin' none of that, and I can tell you, I never tried that again. To this day, my ass hasn't forgotten that wooden spoon."

Mike snorted. That's my Marco. The guys all started sharing stories of childhood misbehaviors, and it lifted Mike's spirits to see Marco laughing at his shiftmate's misfortunes. Chet's were arguably the best, a series of minor misbehaviors that ended with him having a sore ass and being grounded, though his setting the school bully up in fourth grade was definitely impressive. That many waterbombs would have been a logistical nightmare for an adult; he couldn't believe a nine-year-old accomplished it. Mike didn't really have any good stories, being a shy and well-behaved child, and he noticed that Roy only spoke of his own children and not himself.

The guys all left after a few hours, leaving Mike behind with Marco and the family. Rosario came over to him, smiling sadly, saying, "Thank you for joining us today, Migue, for being with the family. I was very happy to see all of you here for Marco today… and I am sorry you could not stand with him among our family, though I know your reasons. We understand."

A lump rose in Mike's throat. Marco said we were blessed once, and we really are. We're blessed to have families who love us no matter what. They remained at the Lopez house until nightfall, when Rosario and the other women (and some of the older men) started a prayer in Spanish, and Marco explained that it was called a novenario.

"They'll pray for nine days, twice a day, to ensure the dead one's soul gets into Heaven," he said quietly, "Really, everyone is supposed to pray, not just women and older people, but that's kinda how it works anymore. I was never any good at remembering to pray like that, but I'm gonna try to go to Mass this weekend for Abuela. She'd like that, I think."

"I'm sure she'd like anything you'd do for her," Mike replied.

The two firemen tried to stay and help clean up, but Rosario shooed them out of the house, telling them, "Marquiño, you need some rest. You've worked so hard to help me these last few days and while Jesusa was in the hospital. You deserve some rest, mi hijo. Migue, you take care of him, take good care of him. Make sure he eats and sleeps… ay, mi niños maravillosos..."

Rosario hugged both of them and gave them each a peck on the cheek, sending them off home.

xXxXx

The world felt off all day for Marco. With all the funerals he'd been to in his life, he thought maybe the funeral of his Abuela would be different. It was one he was ready for. Abuela had been in the hospital, had been ill for some time. Every time the phone rang, he expected news of her death, expected his mother to be weeping as she delivered the news, expected Caridad's calm tones explaining what happened. She died a hundred times in his mind before she actually did. He thought that would make it easier when it finally happened, but it didn't.

He was half-thankful to be there when the old woman finally passed, and he half-wished to be far away when it happened. Marco had been present for the deaths of no less than four immediate family members, not to mention several other cousins, aunts, and uncles. This was nothing new to him, especially now that he worked as a fireman. He'd seen death everywhere, of every kind, and far more tragic deaths than an old woman dying surrounded by her family and thinking of reuniting with her long dead husband. He wanted to be cheerful at this one, cheerful that she went to Heaven, to an Eternal Rest, to Peace… but he just couldn't. Mike made a good point when he said the hurt was from the deceased not being there.

Marco had sat up with his family at all hours, listened to the women cry and weep and wail, watched them let their emotions show clearly while he had to hide his own. Mike did his best to get Marco let his feelings out, but he couldn't. It wasn't done. In his family, the men had to be strong for the women, no tears allowed. Marco was silent in the truck on the way home, though he held Mike's hand on the whole way there, a lump rising in his throat.

Once they were inside their apartment, Mike wrapped him up in his arms, holding him tightly. Marco buried his face in Mike's shoulder, stubbornly trying to choke back his tears. He didn't want to cry in front of Mike. He really didn't. He knew Mike wouldn't care, but he still couldn't bear to let go in front of him.

"C'mon, babe," Mike whispered, "let's get outta these suits. We'll feel better."

Marco allowed himself to be led into the bedroom, where Mike gently helped him undress, slowly undoing buttons without making it sexual. It was an act of comfort, of solidarity, of love. He choked down a small sob. Men don't cry. That was pounded into his head from when he was a child. Don't cry. Don't be a girl. Be macho. When they were at last dressed in more comfortable clothes, Mike stepped closer, taking Marco's hands and twining their fingers.

"Are you okay, Marco?" he asked softly, "It's alright if you're not. You can talk to me about it."

Marco pulled in a shaky breath and answered, "It's just-…she's dead. I mean, I knew it had to happen eventually, but-… I dunno, Mike, it's-… it sucks. I just kept hoping maybe this wasn't it… maybe she would get better and go home and live for another ten years… but really, I knew this was the end. I-It's still hard to believe."

"I know… Believe me, I know. You tell me what you need. Let me help, okay? I'm here for you."

A lump rose in Marco's throat. I don't deserve this man. Mike whispered, "Whatever you need, I'll be right here, babe. I don't care what it is. You can yell, scream, cry… you could even hit me, and I wouldn't fight back-"

"Christ, querido, I would never hit you," Marco spoke up, "Don't ever think that."

"The point is I just want you to feel better. I don't want you to ever feel that you can't be yourself around me, to feel that you can't grieve. Me… when I'm grieving, I get mad. I cry some, but mostly I get angry, wanna hit something, stuff like that. Just… I only want you to be able to grieve the way you need to. After some bad runs we had, you would cry… you'd cry and try to hide it, only I noticed. You, uh… you don't have to hide it anymore, Marco, not from me."

Marco's lip trembled.

"I can't… I can't do it."

"You can. You're safe with me."

He ducked his head, not wanting Mike to the tears pooling in his eyes. Rough palms cupped Marco's face, calloused thumbs stroking along his cheekbones, and he shook his head.

"You can let go, babe… I'll catch you. I promise."

Marco choked back a sob, saying thickly, "I-I don't want you to see me like that. Mike, please, go away."

"No. I love you, Marco, more than anything, and I don't wanna be anywhere else but right here when you need me."

There were too many emotions swirling in Marco's chest. His heart ached with grief and love and sadness and weariness. He was coming to his breaking point. He all but pleaded, his voice brittle, "Por favor, mi corazón, no más… déjame en paz, Mike, mi querido… no quiero que usted me vea asé… por favor, déjame en paz…"

"I already told you I'm not leaving you. I love you. I want you to trust me with, well, with you."

Tender lips kissed Marco's nose and the corner of his mouth and his cheek. His body shook from the effort of keeping it all in. The week's events were finally catching up with him, making their toll known. His chest was so tight it almost hurt. Tears burned in his eyes and throat, his lip trembling.

"Whatever you need… Marco, please, it's okay… you don't have to be strong anymore," Mike told him softly, still cupping his face, "You're allowed to break now if you want to, if you need to. I'll help you through it. I won't leave."

"Then I-I'll go. I don't want you to-to see me cry like that…"

"And I don't wanna see you cry, but I don't want you be alone. Seeing you like this hurts, but knowing you were suffering alone would hurt more."

"But I-"

"Marco, do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Do you trust me?"

"Every day. With my life."

"Then trust me now. Let go. I already promised I would be here, promised you'd be safe with me. You don't have to pretend anymore, not for me… never for me… it's okay, babe…"

He finally looked up, gazing into Mike's blue eyes. They were wet and sad and full of love, and that's what started it off. Marco felt his expression crumble, tears finally spilling over, a sob trying to work its way up his throat. Mike pressed a kiss to his lips and pulled him into an embrace. Big, rough fingers cradled the back of his head. The sob was fighting. It would be out soon, free and unable to be recalled or ignored. Don't cry. Men don't cry… especially when other men can see. But he's also been told that men weren't supposed to love other men like this, like he loved Mike. So who really gives a fuck anymore?

Crying in solitude had a certain cathartic effect, but there was nothing like having someone you love hold you when your whole world was crashing down around you. Marco stopped fighting. He stopped fighting to hide his emotions, stopped fighting the grief, stopped fighting the sobs. It was a wretched sound he let out, in allowing that sob the right of way, the sound of grief born from the death of a woman who did nothing but love him unconditionally for nearly thirty years. It was grief for a woman who helped raise him, took care of him when he was sick, listened to his problems, set him right when his brother died.

Mike held him close, silent as ever, knowing words weren't needed to provide comfort. Marco sobbed uncontrollably, brokenly. He hadn't cried like this in years, not since his brother died, hadn't let the grief take over so completely. He usually only cried in the safety of his own private bedroom, maybe in the shower at the fire station if it was a really bad run. No one had held him while he cried since he was a small child. Being held felt nice. It felt safe. He buried his face further in Mike's shoulder, crying loudly. Everything about Mike was warm: his breath, his skin, his presence. His warmth surrounded Marco, made him feel safe again, made him feel like nothing could ever hurt him again.

Big, warm hands rubbed at his back, stroked up and down his spine, carded through his hair. Marco's tears were hot on his face, in the fabric of Mike's t-shirt. Catharsis. This was cathartic. Marco could feel himself shaking from a week of exhaustion and the exertion of crying so hard after holding it in for so long. He was grateful to Mike for being there, his strong arms keeping Marco from collapsing into a heap on the floor. They swayed gently, carefully rocked by Mike, until all that was left of Marco's grief were quiet hiccoughs and shuddering breaths and wet sniffling. Mike never let go. He kept him wrapped up in his arms, in his warmth, in his love. It was almost enough to send Marco over the edge again, was almost too much for him to bear.

"I wanna go to bed," Marco muttered thickly, "I'm tired."

"Okay… okay, babe… we'll go to bed… c'mon let's clean you up first…"

Marco pulled away from Mike's shoulder, averting his eyes from the wet spot he left on his shirt. Mike guided him into the bathroom, where he wet a washcloth with cool water and gently wiped his face, occasionally planting a kiss to a freshly cleaned area and brushing the hair back from his forehead. They went into their bedroom and lay down together, Mike all but wrapping himself around Marco, enveloping him in his warmth. Warm. Comfortable. Safe. It's alright. It'll be alright. Marco nestled in closer, pressing his face to Mike's neck, and murmured, "I love you, Mike. I love you so much."

"I love you, too. Now, go to sleep, babe. I'm right here. I always will be."

Any reviews and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. It's always nice to know what everyone is enjoying or what I can improve on. Even if what you wanted to say has been said, it hasn't been said by you :)