Disclaimer: This really isn't mine. I swear.

Chapter Summary: Sometimes it's hard to remember the people who haven't left. Two missing scenes from "I'm Still Here."

A/n: Reviews aren't everything, but it's always nice to hear what people think of my work, so please take a second to click on that box and let me know. I will appreciate it more than you'll ever know.

Coda: Season Seven

A story by Ryeloza

Thirteen: I'm Still Here

Tom flopped down on the bed, turning on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready. Let's have it."

The viciousness with which Lynette had been turning the pages of her magazine came to an abrupt halt as she turned to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sensing you're a little tense," he said. Somehow, he managed to understate this without laughing; Lynette was like a ball of nerves—repressed frenetic energy that was slowly building to the point of explosion. If her mother's wedding had been hard, the small reception afterward had been even worse. He'd spent the whole night waiting for her to lose it, but she'd held herself together rather well. Of course, if she didn't let go at some point, her frustration was going to manifest in some other way—most likely at him. "So let me have it. Vent."

"I don't want to vent."

"Yes you do." He tiptoed his fingers down her leg and squeezed her knee. "Come on, babe. I know you're just dying to say something snarky."

Lynette opened her mouth, but before she started, Tom put a hand over her mouth. "Not about me," he revised. Lynette rolled her eyes, and, smiling, he dropped his hand.

"Okay, first of all, do you know how many passive aggressive comments my sister made tonight about me getting pregnant to compete with her? Like I asked you to knock me up because I was worried she was going to get all the attention.'

"Lydia's insane."

"I know. But I didn't need that on top of everything going on with my mom. I can't believe she married that guy. You know she told me that she likes that he needs her?"

"Well—"

"What's with her sudden need to be nurturing? I mean, whose maternal instincts kick in at seventy-five?"

Tom fiddled with her wedding ring, unwilling to either defend or belittle her mother. Lynette just needed to get all of this out; it didn't particularly matter if he agreed or not. At this point, what he said mattered very little anyway; she was on a roll.

"I just feel blindsided by this. They've been dating for months. She couldn't have called and mentioned that at some point?"

"Given you more time to talk her out of it?"

Lynette pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "Maybe. She's just so stubborn."

"Family trait."

Either not really listening or ignoring him, Lynette managed to let that slide. "I just don't want any more surprises. Can we just go one week without anything coming up?"

"Maybe if you and I hole up somewhere all alone and don't talk to anyone." He grinned, trailing his fingers up and down her thigh seductively. "You know, that doesn't sound so bad."

Lynette shook her head; it was obvious to him now that her hearing was selective. "The next thing we know, Bree's going to announce she's marrying Keith."

"So?"

"He's a rebound! And fifteen years younger than her. I love Bree, but I don't want to see her get hurt because Keith wakes up one day and realizes he wants everything he's giving up to be with her."

"Ah," said Tom, reaching out and touching the tip of Lynette's nose. She wrinkled it impatiently, but he just grinned. "There's my cynical little lover."

"I'm a realist."

"No, see, Keith's got the right idea. He gets that older women are so much wiser and worldlier. Better in bed. There's a real logic behind this whole cougar thing. Just look at us."

"I am eighteen months older than you, Tom."

"I know. Scandalous." He gave an exaggerated sigh and grasped her hand, pulling it up against his chest. "Everyone said I was crazy for marrying you, but they just didn't understand. Damn societal expectations!"

"Are you done?"

"Can I get away with another?"

"No."

"Okay. Yeah. I'm done."

Lynette sighed, shutting her book and setting it on the nightstand. Clearly her request for solemnity was so she could continue to overanalyze. It made Tom's need for levity all the more desperate. "My point is that there is constantly some kind of drama. And I think my mom made a mistake today."

"Sweetie, your mother is an adult."

"Since when?"

"And she can make her own decisions. There's always going to be someone who can look at a relationship and think, 'What the hell are they doing together?' Do you really want to be that person?"

"I'm not that person. Just because I'm worried about my mom, that doesn't make me that person."

"And your sisters. And our kids."

Lynette let out a huffy sigh. "Family—That doesn't count!"

"You just mentioned Bree and Keith. And didn't you once tell me that Susan and Mike couldn't make a responsible marital decision to save their lives?"

"You're saying I'm judgmental."

"We-ell, maybe a little. But mostly I think you just care too much. People are allowed to make mistakes. Just because you chose exactly right and never had one moment of doubt in twenty-one years…"

Lynette gave him that look: the one where her eyebrows rose and her eyes widened and it went without saying that she thought he was lovably insane. "You know," she said skeptically, "maybe I just lucked out because you made the wrong choice."

Tom shook his head, unwilling to let her deprecate herself—a hopeless defense mechanism that she'd probably never outgrow. "Oh no," he said, keeping his tone light and teasing, but supporting it with the weightiness of sincerity. He squeezed her thigh, forcing her to pay attention; she'd get maudlin now if he let her. "You've got that wrong. I'm actually the one person in the entire world who everyone looks at and thinks, 'God, that guy ended up with the perfect woman.' I'm the one who got lucky. After all, you're still here."

Lynette smiled, leaning over and kissing him softly—a thank you and an I love you and an I'm so lucky to have you all at once. He returned the embrace wholeheartedly, his own promise wrapped inside that one gesture.

"I'm still here."

It wasn't very often that Gaby actually felt as tiny as she was. The high heels helped; mostly it was her confidence—you didn't feel five-two when you acted like you were five-ten. Every once in awhile, though, Carlos reduced her to near insignificance with an unparalleled ease. She always hated him for it.

"Let me go." She was still sobbing, her voice foreign to her own ears, and it didn't come close to expressing how furious she was. She felt captive—suffocated; he seemed inescapable. "Let me go."

"Gaby—"

"You don't understand!" she shrieked, her voice going from pathetic to hysterical in a matter of seconds. "You've never understood! She's mine, Carlos! Mine! I carried her inside of me for nine months! Why can't you understand that?"

Carlos rocked her back and forth, hushing her under his breath, and with one last wrenching pull, she managed to break from his grip. He was crying (it had been so long since she'd seen him cry). Selfish tears. Not tears for her pain or loss or grief, but tears of his own fear and worry. He wanted her back to normal—that was why he was crying. Even now, he had no idea why this was so hard for her.

Laughter bubbled out of her; she sounded insane. "You're like a robot," she shouted. "How does she mean nothing to you? She's yours too!"

"Why? Gaby, I don't—She shares my DNA, that's all! I never held her when she cried. I wasn't there for her first word. She doesn't call me Daddy."

"We were robbed! Why doesn't that kill you? It kills me, Carlos! Every breath I take, it's this searing pain in my chest and it's killing me!"

"Because!" he screamed, finally exploding. It thrilled her to see him come unhinged. No more false tears. No more lies and ultimatums and tiptoeing around this subject. They were finally going to discuss it; finally going to acknowledge this black hole that was slowly sucking their lives apart. "If we had her, we wouldn't have Juanita! Don't you understand that?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then what are you saying?" His shoulders sagged, anger deflating as quickly as it came. He looked at her now like she was a stranger. She was glad. She wasn't Gabrielle any more; she hadn't been for a long time. It was about time that he realized that. "Are you saying that Juanita isn't enough?"

"No. She's not."

'I don't understand that."

Gaby shrugged helplessly. "I know you don't. But for the rest of my life there's going to be this hole where Grace should be, and no one is going to fill that. Not Juanita, not Celia, not you, not some stupid doll!"

Carlos shook his head. "I never should have told you."

Part of her agreed. Deep down inside of her, in the place where she had decided never to tell him about Andrew running down his mother, she thought that she would have been better off if he had paid her the same courtesy. Her life would be so ordinary now. The same mundane, monotonous pace of normality. She would never have known this agony.

But then she never would have known Grace either.

"Gaby, we're your family."

"She's my family too."

"I know." Carlos took a cautious step toward her, but Gaby backed away. She didn't want to be placated. She didn't want him to pretend that he understood. "Gabrielle, Grace is gone. You have to face that."

"I face that every minute of every single day. You're the one who's buried his head in the sand."

Carlos nodded—the first sincere gesture he'd made all evening. It calmed her. "You're right," he agreed. "I've been ignoring what's going on right in front of me. And it's time I realized that this isn't just going to go away."

"You can't fix me."

"I have to." He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pulling her to his chest. She struggled for a moment, but when he didn't restrain her, she finally relaxed in his embrace. The claustrophobia faded, and for the first time in ages, she felt like she had some semblance of control. "Gaby, I need you. The girls need you. And you can't keep going like this. You're going to go crazy."

"I already have."

Carlos squeezed her and then pulled back, cupping her face in his hands and bending down to kiss her softly. It almost hurt to feel him so tender after so many months of abrasiveness and tension between them. They'd put up walls that she hadn't even been aware of building. Until this moment, Gaby hadn't realized just how much she'd missed her husband.

"I'm still here, Gaby. And I need you to come back to me."

"I'm lost."

"I know." He kissed her again, resting his forehead against hers and breathing life back into her. "You have to find your way home."

Gaby shut her eyes and blocked out the world. She still hurt; she was still broken, but she reached out for Carlos in a way she hadn't been able—willing—to in months. Somehow, someway, he was going to bring her back.

She just had to trust him.