Disclaimer: This still isn't mine. At all.

Chapter Summary: Orson has an unexpected revelation. A missing scene in "Assassins."

A/n: Hopefully I'll stop getting these in under the wire again soon; this last minute stuff is stressful. I hope you all enjoy this one; please let me know what you think.

Coda: Season Seven

A story by Ryeloza

Eleven: Assassins

Orson thought that except for the new paint on the walls, and Keith's tacky junk, and Keith himself, he could very easily slip right back into this house—this life—as though he hadn't left. It seemed like a matter of inevitability. Obviously Bree wasn't going to be with Keith for the rest of her life (Orson had never heard of anything so ridiculous), and Orson could tell by her reaction that she had genuinely missed him these past few months. Most importantly, he had finally gotten enough room to clear his head and realize what he wanted; he had finally had time to work through his anger and hurt and sense of betrayal, and in the end only one thing was clear.

He was still in love with Bree. He was always going to be in love with Bree.

All he had to do now was to wait out Keith.

Said man candy was currently off with Bree shopping for something (manly towels, Orson thought he'd heard, though he didn't quite see any way towels could be masculine or feminine). He'd been wheeling through the house, trying to see how Bree had effectively purged him from the place, and finding a slight satisfaction in the fact that he was not entirely gone. A few knickknacks still remained; pictures from their honeymoon still graced one of the bookshelves. It was reassuring—proof that he hadn't exaggerated the significance of their marriage in his mind; it meant just as much to Bree.

She had gotten a new television. Orson suspected it belonged to his nemesis. And he didn't feel the least bit guilty about how he might have been accidentally on purpose deleting all of Keith's shows from the digital recorder. He was in the middle of wiping out "The Real World XXX," when the doorbell suddenly rang. As though it was still second nature, Orson wheeled over to the door, ready to welcome the guest as though this was still his home. When he opened the door, however, Carlos had the indecency to spoil the illusion.

"Orson?" he said, raising an eyebrow as though he'd never expected to see Orson again. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

If possible, Carlos' eyes seemed to get wider; it made him seem strangely childish without his usual facial hair. "You and Bree got back together? What happened to that other guy?"

"If you're referring to Keith, he is currently out shopping for manly towels. I'm sure they'll be a great comfort when Bree dumps him."

"Right." Carlos' lip twitched, and Orson scowled up at him. He'd forgotten how obnoxiously condescending Carlos could be. "Can I do something for you?" he asked in a clipped tone, unwilling to hide his annoyance.

"Gaby just asked me to drop off this check for Bree. It's for some fundraiser or something, I don't know."

"I'll make sure she gets it."

Carlos shrugged and handed the check to him, and Orson folded it and tucked it into his pocket without even glancing at it. Vaguely he wondered if Keith attended fundraisers with Bree now; if they went to the club together. It seemed absurd, but the thought was enough to reinvigorate his itchy trigger finger and finish off "World's Dirtiest Jobs" as well. He cleared his throat loudly. "Well it was nice seeing you again, Carlos. If you'll excuse me—"

"Actually, do you have a minute?"

"For what?"

"To, uh, talk," he said, and it was Orson's turn to be surprised. For the first time, Carlos seemed contrite, perhaps even a bit nervous. The uncharacteristic nature of this made Orson flinch with curiosity, and without really thinking, he backed up to let Carlos into the house. The younger man followed him into the living room, sitting down on the couch and looking profoundly uncomfortable. For a few minutes, they stared at one another, Orson flush with the knowledge that he could wait out Carlos forever, regardless of how much he wanted to know what this was about. Eventually Carlos seemed to realize this, and hesitantly, started to speak.

"I don't know if Bree's told you about Juanita…"

Immediately, Orson's mind flew to the accident—Andrew running over Carlos' mother. Had Bree actually confessed? It seemed plausible, although Carlos' reaction seemed surprisingly underwhelmed. Cautiously, Orson said, "What about her?"

"We found out a few months ago…Juanita was switched at birth with another little girl. Some nurse—I guess she was insane, I don't know. We never got a good explanation. But she's not…She's not biologically ours."

"No," said Orson, mind whirling with this unexpected news. "No, Bree didn't tell me. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, it's caused some…problems between me and Gaby. Juanita found out, and now she's trying to deal with that, and all I want to do is help her. But Gaby—I don't know. She's fixated on Grace, our biological daughter, and she can't seem to let it go. She can't seem to put Juanita first."

Carlos paused here as though he expected some kind of reaction, but Orson was at a complete loss for what to say. Truthfully, he and Carlos were not the type of friends to sit down and have deep personal discussions about their lives. They weren't the type of friends to share a couple of beers and hang out together. In fact, they weren't even the type of friends who stayed in touch—Orson hadn't heard from the Solises once since he'd left. So to hear Carlos confessing all of this now was somewhat mindboggling.

"I guess," said Carlos, seeming to sense Orson's bewilderment, "the reason I'm telling you all of this is because I thought that maybe you could give me some perspective. You know…because of Benjamin."

Orson tensed, an instinctive reaction to the backlash of pain that came from hearing Benjamin's name. It had lessened, somewhat, over the years, but there was still this constant ache in his heart that Orson didn't think would ever leave him entirely. And to hear Benjamin's name thrown out so casually—it felt like a bullet to the chest. Faintly, he heard himself gasp, "What?"

"He wasn't—He wasn't your biological child."

"No."

"So was it…I mean, that didn't mean you loved him any less?"

"Carlos," said Orson in some strangled voice that he barely recognized as his own, "what are you trying to ask me?"

"I'm just trying to understand—I need to understand if I'm being crazy here. Gaby's reacted so strongly to Grace; they had this bond. But I didn't feel that with her. I feel it with Juanita…I've felt it with Juanita every day since she was born. And I need to know if I'm the one who isn't reacting right. I need to know…I just need to understand this."

"I'm not really—That is to say…" Orson swallowed hard, an unbidden lump in his throat rising and falling rapidly. "I don't have any biological children. But Benjamin is…was…my son. And I never questioned that. I never doubted that just because we didn't share some genetic bond."

"That's exactly how I feel about Juanita."

"But you don't think Gaby does?"

"I know Gaby loves Juanita. I do. But…" Carlos shrugged helplessly, and Orson understood. What was going on was inexplicable; whatever Gaby felt, however she was reacting, was beyond Carlos' capability of understanding. But Orson had no idea what to say to that, no advice to give, nothing wise to contribute. And still, Carlos looked at him with these strangely imploring eyes, practically begging him to say the right thing.

Orson couldn't remember the last time he'd done that.

Finally, uncertainly, he said, "You can't force Gaby to feel the way you do. You have to accept that things have changed for her, maybe forever. And somehow, you're going to have to work with that, not against it."

Carlos nodded, suddenly looking at Orson with some kind of respect that Orson had never seen from him before. And two minutes ago, Orson would have reveled in it; he would have felt some needed boost of self-esteem that could have propelled him forward in unforeseen ways. As it stood, though, it was his own words that echoed in his mind now, torturing him in a cacophony of hypocrisy.

For the first time, Orson wondered if winning Bree back would be as simple as he'd thought.