Disclaimer: It definitely isn't mine.

Chapter Summary: Carlos, Tom and Mike drink away their problems. Post-ep for "The Lies Ill-Concealed."

A/n: I know I'm posting the nineteenth fic before the eighteenth, but hopefully it won't be long before that missing chapter is up. I would have written that one first, but my computer had a complete meltdown last week (and I spent about 4 days thinking that I might have lost EVERYTHING, including all of my writing). Needless to say, it was a very stressful week. And then I got to watch last night's downer of an episode, and I was basically compelled to address that first. But rest assured, chapter eighteen will be posted soon!

By tomorrow my computer should be completely back to normal (fingers crossed), and I'll be back to writing.

I hope you guys enjoy this one. Please let me know what you think.

Coda: Season Seven

A story by Ryeloza

Nineteen: Ill-Concealed

"Security finally caught her and she spent the rest of the afternoon in their offices."

"Yeah," said Carlos blandly. The drink in his hand was trembling slightly as he brought it to his lips. "That's Lynette for you."

"It was a trainwreck. And completely humiliating. Just once I wish she would think about me-"

"She never thinks about you. It's always what she wants and what she thinks and what she needs. Fuck you, man. It's never about you."

"Carlos?" Tom exchanged a glance with Mike as they watched their friend down the entire contents of his glass and then tap the bar for a refill. "You okay?"

"I'm great. Just great." He glared at Tom. "What are you even bitching about? You take your wife somewhere like that and you expect her to act like...like..."

"Bree?" Mike offered. He and Tom both jumped as Carlos suddenly pounded his fist against the counter. For a moment, they stared at Carlos, waiting for him to explode or throw something or punch someone-something to match the outburst of anger-but as the silence stretched out awkwardly, as Carlos just downed his next drink without blinking, there was no choice but to bridge the pause.

"Okay, yeah, maybe, but just once couldn't she do that for me? Be that wife for me?"

"Lynette is never going to be that wife," snapped Carlos. "And you'd be miserable if she was."

"I'm just talking about one weekend. Three days of her life."

"Three too many."

Mike cleared his throat. "I think what he's trying to say...You can't expect her just to suddenly become another person. I mean, Susan might make me crazy taking in every stray in the world, feeling empathy for anyone and anything...She won't even let me kill spiders."

"And your point?"

"I guess I just mean that even if she drives me crazy with all of that, she wouldn't be Susan if she didn't do those things. And I love Susan. All of her. Not just part of her."

Carlos rolled his eyes, turning so abruptly that Tom had to steady him with an arm to the shoulder. "You're wrong. Marriage is all about conditional love. That's all it is. One wrong move and-" He made an unsteady pantomime of cutting his throat and then picked up his glass again. Sloppily, he turned to face Tom. "She's loved you what? Twenty fucking years? But trust me, it's all gonna go away."

"I don't think-"

"Yeah. It's gonna come down to a choice. It always does. She'll give you a choice and if you choose wrong that's it. Done. She's gone."

"Carlos, did something happen with Gaby?"

"Come on, Tom. Tell us. What are you going to choose: her or the job?"

"It's not going to come to a choice."

"Yes it will. It always does. One way or another. And she won't pick you. She never picks you."

"What?"

But Carlos had basically passed out, head in his arms against the counter of the bar. Confused, Tom turned to Mike, who kept morose eyes focused on his drink.

"You can't make it a choice," Mike muttered, almost speaking to himself. "You both just dig your heels in and she'll just do what she wants anyway behind your back. If you don't give in, then you're both miserable."

"Yeah. But what if she's the one who gives the ultimatum?"

Mike snorted as he picked up his drink. "Well...Then you're fucked anyway. Because you either pick her or she's gone." He glanced over at Tom. "You mean she's never made you pick?"

"She's never made me pick," echoed Tom faintly. "She's never made me pick." It was true. Whatever bullshit Lynette had pulled over the years, whatever rash, selfish decisions she made, he could never remember her giving him an ultimatum. At least not one like that.

And as he looked at the two men with him at the bar, it slowly dawned on him that he was the only one who'd never lost his wife either. The realization was like a slap in the face, a thought that came in a flash and illuminated this entire situation in a whole new light. There was nothing that had ever been more important than their marriage; there had never been a choice.

For either of them.

Suddenly interrupting this epiphany, Mike sighed, pushing his drink away from him and standing.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I may not like what Susan's doing, but I can't stop her either, you know?"

Tom nodded; if Susan was like a dog with a bone, then Lynette was simply unstoppable. "I know."

"And maybe the truth is that I shouldn't stop her. I learned the hard way how easy it is to lose everything. I'm not making that mistake again. It's gotta be Susan, no matter what kind of completely crazy crap she pulls. You know."

"I guess."

"No. Tom. You know. Don't be an idiot. You're not giving up Lynette. Not for anything." He threw some bills down on the bar and then looked at Tom. "Come on. It's time to go home."

Slowly, Tom nodded, any residual anger draining from his body until there was nothing left but a desolate anxiousness that he couldn't quite explain. It wouldn't come down to a choice. He knew that. He knew that.

It was never a choice.

"Yeah," he agreed, not really feeling any better. "It's time to go home."