I do not own "Warrior." It belongs to director Gavin O'Connor.

Was thinking of calling this "A Warning of Things to Come" before realizing how easily it could be interpreted as a pun (not my intention!) and would like to ask a general question: given that this is an M-rated romance, how averse would you, as a reader, be to strong sexual content in this story?

Second: I know Tommy told Brendan that he doesn't drink coffee. Given that he drinks coffee at other times in the film, I'm guessing he was just giving an excuse to not want to talk to him, and probably does on occasion.

Chapter Nineteen: Reunion

He smiles, actually smiles, for a moment at her recognition.

"Hello, Jane," he tells her.

He doesn't look any worse than the last time she saw him. If anything, he looks even better. She's not quite as terrified of this attraction as she was before, which is fantastic because it's still there, and stronger than ever. She still thinks he's one of the most distinctively attractive men she's ever met. What makes it even better is his lack of arrogance about it. His lack of vanity.

"I…" she clears her throat, "You want to order something?"

"I thought your shift ended at eleven."

"It does."

"Then no, I'm good."

Her brain slowly starts turning its gears again. "Why're you here if you don't want to order anything?"

"To drop in. Walk you home, if you're still living where you were."

It's not a grand declaration of love, but for Tommy and his way with words, it's pretty close. Her heart's in her throat and the butterflies in her stomach are replaced with something much larger—birds, maybe?—as she stands her ground.

She plays it his way. "I am. And thanks." She somehow remembers her other customers and makes sure all the loose ends are tied when it reaches eleven and she changes, trading in the curve-accentuating dress for clothes she's owned since she was a weed-smoking, lethargic drunk that at one point were snug but now are baggy and frayed, and when she comes back he looks no less interested.

"How've you been?" is the first thing he asks her while they wait for the bus.

"Pretty busy," she says, trying to sound casual. "But at the very least I'm done with finals and registered for a couple of classes for the summer. And I, um," she glances at him, thinking that if he's ready for things to come back together—for them to get back together-and go farther, then so is she, "I worked out some problems I've been avoiding for a long time."

"Like what?"

"Things that happened to me when I was in high school."

"The abuse." The abuse that never took the form of a punch in the face. He looks over at her and she thinks she sees compassion. She'd like to think so. One former victim to another. One person whose life went to shit at fourteen to another.

"Yeah." The bus comes and they get on, and she waits until they're seated before she can continue. "It's something I needed to address." I missed you. "How about you?"

"I got a new place." For a moment she thinks it's all he's going to say. "You been seeing anyone?"

"No," she says, stressing the words as much as possible. She adds, mostly out of curiosity as to how Tommy will react, "I went on a date recently, but that's as far as it went."

He tenses up next to her. "What happened?" he asks; voice slightly rougher.

"It was with someone from U-Pitt; just a movie and a frozen yogurt. At the end of it I told him I wasn't ready for a relationship."

"And are you?"

She looks at him for a moment, the jealousy clear is day and somehow, much to her guilt, it cheers her up immensely. "Not with him," she says, and he gets it. For good measure she asks the same thing, "Have you been seeing anyone?"

"No." And she trusts him in this aspect at least.

She says it, finally says it, because he's the one who broke and saw her. "I missed you," she tells him.

He nods, looking down, and it's much harder for him to say the words. It's almost inaudible when he mumbles, "Yeah, me, too."

She can't help it; she teases him a little, "Is that why you decided to 'drop in'?" she says, letting a smirk play however briefly across her face. He says nothing. The bus reaches her stop, and when they get off, his response comes to her in the form of his hand taking hers. And it's enough. It's more than enough.

After close to a minute, Tommy says, "I got a cell phone. Kind of, anyway."

"You mean like a trac phone?"

"Yeah." He gives her the number. She enters it into her phone, and until they're close to her apartment they're silent again. Her heart is beating rapidly and the tingling in her body has grown into an insistent throb. And at the time when normally they might say goodnight and part ways she thinks, For once in your life take the goddamn initiative. And so she does. As he stops to tell her goodnight she kisses him. And it's nothing quick or chaste or hesitant. She threads a hand through his hair to bring him in closer and almost immediately after her lips meet his he's more than willing to comply with her. She's vaguely aware of his hands pulling her hips closer to his but fully aware of his body heat and those impossibly full lips of his that, as they break apart for air, trail along her cheek, her jaw, her neck.

She brings her hands to either side of his face, slowly pulling him up to meet her eyes. What instead happens is their foreheads come close together; their noses touch; they're breathing the same air. "It's really good seeing you again," she tells him. Her voice is a little close to breathless.

He stops and starts. "Start again?" he says.

"Yes." She nods. "From wherever it was we left off. I won't take any more of your tests, though," she adds, tilting her head back and looking him in the eyes as she says it. "Never again."

He nods. "No more tests," he tells her. "That's a promise."

"I'll hold you to it," she assures him.

"When were you thinking of seeing each other again?"

"I'm free tomorrow afternoon." She knows she needs to address things with him that terrified her before, and so she tells him this. And they agree on a coffee shop that is large and dark enough that even at peak hours is never even a fraction as crowded as any Starbucks. He knows what she needs to address with him, and he'll wait until that time. Right now isn't the time to announce undying love and jump into bed. Now is the time to test the waters.

"Jane?" Tommy says as they say goodbye for the night, knowing they'll see each other again tomorrow.

"Yeah?"

He thins out his lips and hesitates before telling her. "That last fight, before I tapped out, he said he was sorry, and that he loved me. And after that," he looks down, he takes a breath, and she's seeing him vulnerable again. She doesn't know how humiliating or painful this is for him. But he finishes his statement in a steady enough voice for her to understand every word. "After that, after it was over, he said he always loved me, always would; that I would always be his brother."

She stares at him, speechless, but when he starts to turn away, she pulls him back, not sure why. All she knows is that when she does she can't let him leave like that. She touches the side of his neck, brings her hand up to the side of his face, and kisses him in a manner far gentler and far less invasive than the one earlier. If he would only let her hug him she would, but she's pretty sure that's out of the question at the moment. He wouldn't appreciate that gesture at all.

When she goes up to her apartment that night, she thinks Dionne was right. She is way too in love to think straight. Right now, though, from where she's standing, it doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

F

Saturday after a meeting she tells Dionne, "Tommy came by the diner last night."

Dionne's expression is unfathomable; as far as Jane can tell, it's a mixture of conflicting emotions, most of which are positive. "And I'm guessing he wasn't there for the Porterhouse special."

She shakes her head, unable to suppress a smile. "No. To, I think his words were 'drop in', and to walk me home."

"Is it back on between the two of you?"

She nods. "We agreed on that. We agreed that he wasn't to test me again. And I believe him when he promised it. At this point, and this far along, I think he's past the testing stage."

"You're probably right."

"We're meeting for coffee later today. And I think I ought to tell him…you know. Not go into graphic detail or anything, but I want to let him in on that, because I think, after going through the fourth step with you, I can actually let things get physical the way they couldn't before."

"Do you want things to get physical, or is it just to please him?"

"I want to," Jane tells her. "I wanted to before; remember?"

Dionne thinks about it before she chooses her words. "I think," she tells Jane, "That if the two of you want to get physical, you need to affirm it, actually agree on it. And yes, the two of you need to talk about both of your histories. He knows you were hurt; he'll probably want to know. You were raped on multiple occasions without protection in D.C., which has the highest rate of HIV infection in the country, not to mention every other STD out there."

"And I'm somehow miraculously clean. I don't even know how that's possible."

"Neither do I. But like I said, the two of you need to talk it out. It's not fun, it's awkward as hell, but in the long run it's pretty damn romantic. It's kind of like getting tested together; it's not the kind of romantic gesture you'll read about in love stories, but it's concrete evidence that you care about the other person's safety."

E

She waits until they get their orders and both are stunned and somehow pleased to find they take their coffee the same way: black and unsweetened.

"There are things you should know," Jane tells him. "Not just about the drinking. It's about the other stuff."

"You got an STD?" he asks. The tone isn't nearly as accusing as the question, and hell, it's only fair for him to ask.

"No. I got tested before rehab after I'd been celibate for about four months and came out clean, and I haven't been with anyone since. Also turned out I can't have children but that wasn't nearly as much of a surprise." She takes a breath that sounds somehow similar to a laugh. "I mean, my first time was when I was fourteen and unconscious. I don't even know who it was. I had to get tested. Because I thought for sure I must have had something." She's done some humiliating things, but admitting to the gynecologist back in D.C. that she didn't know the exact number of sexual partners she'd had is up there. She will never forget the look the woman gave her. She'd been used to disgust or contempt, but the underlying pity had made her feel all the more pathetic.

His voice becomes quieter. "You were unconscious?" he says.

She nods. "I thought it wasn't until college that I'd have to worry about guys slipping something into my drink, but I guess I was wrong."

She doesn't want him to pity her. She doesn't want him to see her as damaged beyond repair, as unfit for use.

He brings a hand over his mouth, slides it down, looks away and back. "How long did they get away with it?"

"Nearly five years," she tells him.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asks.

She tries to phrase it as best as she can. "There are some addicts, usually male, who abuse others when they're drunk or high. Some kind of rage that would be unfamiliar to them when they're sober is activated and they hurt people who've done nothing to deserve it. You know those kinds of addicts. I belong to a different group. I belong to the kind who stayed drunk or high so I could put up with it, and keep down that kind of rage.

"I'm much more likely to punch someone in the face while sober," she tells him, a faint grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, "because I wouldn't be able to drink it down; I'd actually have to feel and acknowledge that rage. That and my coordination for it would be much better."

There's a soft hint of a laugh at that. He looks at her like he doesn't know what to tell her, like he wants to say things that by now would be pointless. "You know rage," is what he says instead.

She nods. "Yeah. I know rage," she affirms. And then she admits, "I should've told someone."

He hesitates. "Why're you opening up to me about this?"

And Dionne's right: this is awkward as hell. At first Jane says, "I thought it was obvious.

"If things…between us…go farther, I think you have a right to know my history."

And Tommy's eyes widen a little. "Do you want them to?" he asks. Is that why you worked out that fear? For this?

Jane bites the bullet. Looks him dead in the eye when she tells him, "Yes. Very much."

And for a moment he's rendered speechless. He taps his knuckles against the table. "So do I," he says finally. "I just…you're the one who's gotten hurt that way. So it's up to you." And he mans up and shares his information.

"I, um, I've always used protection. The first girl I was with had an STD, and she told me, 'If you go in without a condom you're not only trusting with person you're with but everyone she's been with, everyone those people have been with, and somewhere down the line chances are at least one of them is lying.' And they won't let you in the Corps if you got anything like that. They test you for it. And when they test you for steroids during sports events, you have the option of being tested for STD's, and that came out clean."

"And since then?"

He looks over at her and back down. "I haven't been with anyone since then." It comes out as an embarrassed mumble, but she hears it loud and clear.

She does her best to take the awkwardness out of it. "So we're both clean," she says. He nods, still looking down, and takes a sip of coffee.

A

On Tuesday Tommy calls her up with an idea that's sure to make her crack up and wonder about his sanity.

"How about we give Girasole another try Saturday?" he says.

Jane laughs on the other end. He loves the sound; the rich mellowness of it. "With what happened last time we were there?" she says.

He smiles into the receiver. "We're starting over, right?" he says. "I want to try going out the right way this time."

"If they recognize us, I don't think they'll let us in."

"Do you want to give it a try anyway?"

He can hear the smile in her voice when she says, "Sounds like a plan. Let's try for seven."

After the call, he thinks about the talk they had Saturday. She says she's ready this time around. And he believes her.