Disclaimer:  My birthday is coming up if you want to buy me the rights.  Otherwise, they belong to the Norris Bros et al.
Rating: PG-13
 

Trent Malloy rolled over in bed and slapped at his blaring alarm clock. For the first time in several months, his first thought was not of her, but of his little brother, Tommy, who had just completed his first semester of college. Trent was wondering how he was adjusting. Tommy had done a major turn-around with his life after Thunder, their father, died almost four years ago. He had grown from resenting Trent to building a strong relationship with his brother, working with him at his martial arts dojo, and even assisting him at his private investigation practice from time to time. Moreover, he had caught the "helping others" bug, and was studying to be a lawyer. His academics had been high enough to warrant an admirable scholarship to the University of Dallas. Trent hadn’t heard much from Tommy since he and his mother had moved him into the dorm. He hoped he was staying out of trouble.

Trent rolled back over and thought about her. She was never far from his thoughts, even after eight months. He imagined where she was, what she was doing, why she felt she had to leave. Carlos had said to give it time, that she needed to sort things out for herself. Trent refused to talk to Carlos for three weeks after that. It nearly cost him his Thunder Investigations, as well as their friendship. It took Trent a month after she left to realize that there was nothing he could do about it. He hated feeling powerless. So he tried to get on with his life the best he could. Life without her, he was discovering, was not much of a life at all.

Resolutely, he sat up and began his morning conditioning of sit-ups, pushups, and complicated fighting forms.

"Hate crimes in Oaklawn." Carlos Sandoval’s grumpy new boss, who had replaced his grumpy old boss two months ago, dropped a folder onto his desk. "You and Detroit check it out," she said before moving on to assign more cases.

"This is only temporary, right?" He yelled after her. He received no answer. It wasn’t that he resented working with a partner, even if she was a girl. It was just that he had gotten his last partner killed, and he didn’t fancy going through that experience again. Plus, he had grown accustomed to working alone. Carlos grabbed the file, looked up at Detroit, and smiled tightly. He brought the file over to her desk, and they poured over the case. It was sketchy, really, just a collection of complaints of minor vandalisms and a few muggings in the past month down in the Oaklawn suburb.

"You’re still here, Sandoval?" The chief asked with an arched eyebrow. Under her strict watch, Carlos’ desk had become cleaner, a chore not even the wrath of his mother could motivate him to do. The aptly named Chief Sandra Cross had improved efficiency in five Dallas PD districts already. Now she had set her sights on the Homicide department. Of course, some detectives, reluctant to change, like Carlos, needed attitude adjustments, which is why he was often stuck working small cases like this one in Oaklawn with a partner.

"Just preparing ourselves, Chief," he said brightly. She wasn’t a bad leader, just different. And he didn’t mean to be difficult… "We’re already gone!"

Tommy Malloy sat in his introduction to Political Science class, eyes glued to the gorgeous co-ed in front of him. The normally tedious eight o’clock lecture might not have been worth attending without her. The familiar sound of rustling papers and zippers that signaled the last few moments of class filled the air, and Tommy quickly put away his notes and rehearsed what he was going to say to his beauty.

"Remember, the final is on Monday in this room," the professor said finally. In a flash, two hundred students stampeded the exits, and Tommy lost sight of the girl in the crowd. Then he spotted her glorious blonde hair moving for the door. It was work weaving through the sea of people to get to her. A guy bumped into her roughly, and they exchanged words. For a moment, he thought they exchanged a suspicious baggie, too. On second thought, eight o’clock was still too early for class, he decided as he shook his head to clear the image.

"Hey," he caught up to her at last. "Kara!"

Her smile grew as she recognized her long-lost friend, white teeth flashing against her tanned skin. Noting her grin, he decided she couldn’t be into drugs. No one so pretty could be so stupid. Kara gave him a huge hug. "Tommy, how have you been?" They talked a little about school: classes, teachers, and majors.

"You doing anything tonight?" she asked impulsively. They were outside and ready to part paths.

"No," Tommy shrugged and stuck a thumb through one of his backpack straps. "Want to do something?" he asked, taking his cue from her.

"There’s this party…" She began telling him directions and times. Tommy smugly noted how easy it had been to hook up with Kara. He really didn’t understand why Carlos complained about the vagueness of women.

"Why are we eating here?" Trent asked Carlos that night as they sat outside Hunky’s and waited for their food. Both men, usually full of life, seemed curiously subdued and bone-tired.

Carlos flashed one of his most mischievous smiles, proving that even in weariness he carried his trademark roguishness. "Thunder Investigations needs to branch out into other demographics. What’s up with you?" Trent wasn’t buying the excuse at all, but his friend insisted on hearing his story first.

I was signing off on a case I wrapped up this morning and she walked in. She looked good. I wasn’t quite sure how to act. Was she coming back to me? Or was this a formal breakup?

It was worse than I even imagined.

She dropped a huge envelope on my desk and said, "The US Government needs your help." Her voice was completely devoid of emotion, which meant that there were some strong ones there behind the façade. I know her. I just wish I knew what emotions she was hiding. But she came back for business and business alone. Inside the envelope was a file. My file. I’m not sure how the FBI got their hands on it, since the Army likes to keep files like this one to themselves.

Then she started briefing me.

Brad Shaker, one of my best students, who I thought died during a routine combat exercise, is alive…and unwell. I remember the night he "died" like it was yesterday. I took a squad of men out, under orders, and we braved the wilderness for three days without weapons and under war conditions. The trick was to disable any enemies who discovered us and hopefully find a way out of the situation. I monitored their progress from a distance, listening to their conversations and tracking their movements via radio and satellite. It was one of the most gifted classes of men I had ever taught, and it should have gone off without a hitch. Then something exploded in the woods, and it was not a part of the exercise. Another command was in the woods, and they screwed up. We evacuated as many men as we could, but two of them I never saw again. I was told they died in the resulting fire, but Brad, at least, survived. Maybe he wasn’t even hurt at all, and the explosion was just a cover, something to tell his parents. In any event, Brad was selected to be in a secret division of the Army. They trained him to be a quick, efficient, cold-blooded killer.

After he came back from the Iraqi war, where he did some special ops, he went AWOL. What did they think would happen? They trained him to kill. The trail of corpses indicates he’s coming to Dallas. Coming after me, they think.

Margo said he blames me for everything that happened to him. Maybe he’s right.

"So why are we here, Carlos?" Trent didn’t need affirmation, he needed to do something about the situation.

Maybe people here will be more likely to talk to two men having dinner instead of cops asking questions; Detroit and I were down here this morning, right at this very spot, investigating some hate crimes. We were questioning people and getting nowhere when I looked up as someone drove by. The sun glinting off the window of the car put a huge blue mark in my vision and made it hard to see. The next thing I heard was a gun going off. Again, and again, and again. I don’t know how they knew we were cops, since Detroit and I were wearing suits, but they must have. Neither of us was injured, thank goodness. In that moment of panic, I could just imagine Detroit getting shot. The bullet punching through her body, the spray of blood, the look of betrayal on her face. In that crazy dream, too similar to reality, her eyes were asking, "Why didn’t you save me?"

The guys just managed to shot a dog and a pedestrian. Detroit was fine, so I ran over to help the wounded man. I tried to stop the bleeding the best I could, but he kept pushing me away. He was HIV positive, he said, and he didn’t want to infect me. He kept crying about his stupid dog. He cried the whole way to the hospital. I rode with him because there was something compelling in his lament. I wanted to make sure he’d pull through. The doctors said he’ll be fine.

Detroit had followed the ambulance in my car, and she picked me up at the hospital to take me back to the station. But as we drove through the parking lot, I saw Danae leaving the hospital. I twisted around in my seat to watch her, started to roll down my window to say "hi." She sat down on the steps just outside the door and ran shaky hands through her hair. Then she looked up at the sky, and I could tell she was crying. As Detroit pulled out, I noticed the sign: "Pediatrics, Women’s Health, OB/GYN"

What if she’s pregnant?

"But I’m not ready for a baby," Carlos protested softly.

Trent chuckled at that. Carlos and Danae had become fast friends and shared in each other’s life experiences like Carlos and Trent did. To them, she was one of the guys. "It’s not like you’re having it." Seeing the scared, confused look in Carlos’ eyes, Trent finally understood what Carlos had been trying to say. "How long?" he managed to stutter.

"We’ve been together for…almost nine months now," he counted in his head.

The waiter came out with their ordered food, and Carlos switched topics suddenly.

"I have never seen a neighborhood so nice," he remarked casually to Trent.

"It’s peaceful," Trent agreed, playing off Carlos. "Quaint."

The waiter distributed their baskets of hot sandwiches and fries and scoffed. "You guys aren’t local, huh?" He asked.

"Not yet," Carlos smiled coyly. "My partner and I are just in love with Dallas, though!"

"What’s wrong with this place?" Trent asked innocently.

"Hate crimes. It’s getting worse the closer we get to Christmas," he said, tucking his tray under one arm.

"Why would the holidays antagonize hate crimes?" Trent was genuinely puzzled.

"People get together with family and friends for the holidays, even politicians." He looked at the handsome couple and their cute, but confused, expressions. "Some people don’t want a gay sheriff, that’s all I’m saying. Enjoy your dinner." With that, he bustled back into the restaurant.

"That gives me a lead, at least," Carlos mumbled as he bit into his burger. Trent just stared at him. He swallowed his over-large mouthful and washed it down with a gulp of coke. "You gonna eat that?" he asked has he stole one of Trent’s fries.

"My ‘partner’?" Trent asked incredulously.

Carlos shrugged. "It’s not my fault he assumed something else," he defended himself around another bite. "Must be the atmosphere." Trent shook his head and ate a couple of fries. "Besides, you know I love you." Trent couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s broad, impish grin.

"Well we know who wears the skirt in this arrangement," Trent countered. He cut off Carlos’ rebuttal with a wave of his hand. "I distinctly remember you wearing a dress."

Carlos’ face fell and became dark. "You promised not to speak of that again!"

The party was at an apartment just off campus. The small house was rented out by three seniors, and it was they who had supplied the great keg that sat in the basement. Bad music with enough bass and rhythm to warrant dancing blasted from the speakers across the large, open room from the keg.

Someone thrust a plastic cup at Tommy, and he dumbly took it as he wound his way through the crowd, looking for Kara. Not seeing her, he went back upstairs to search. He opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped into the kitchen, where he saw her arguing with a guy. The stranger grabbed Kara’s wrist, and she struggled while Tommy sized up the situation. The other guy was a few inches taller than Tommy’s average frame, but he knew from a glance at the other man’s sloppy grip on Kara that he had no training in martial arts. Still, Tommy decided to play it cool for now.

"Kara! I’ve been looking for you," he said brightly.

"You know this kid?" the taller student asked with a sneer.

"Tommy Malloy," he offered his hand, and the guy had to release his grip to shake it.

"Whatever," the taller guy grumbled and went downstairs for a beer.

"You ok?" Tommy turned his attention back to Kara. "He looked like he was getting a little rough with you."

"Nah," she couldn’t make up an excuse fast enough, so she just smiled. "You want to dance?" she asked.

Now Tommy smiled. "Yeah, I do." She took his hand and he opened the door to the basement. He could have cared less about the bad music buzzing out of a blown speaker or the drunken couples accidentally running into him because she was in his arms. He loved the feeling of her moving hips under his palms and her own hands around his neck, rubbing his shoulders. They had come a long way in the ten years since they used to play together as children.

"I need some air," she yelled to be heard, and Tommy followed her upstairs again. He didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter since she still held his hand firmly. By now the party had spilled over into the kitchen and living room, so she took him upstairs. The bedroom doors were locked (and always risky to open at a college party) so she settled for the bathroom, after making sure it was both clean and empty.

"So why are you interested in law?" he asked her, feeling the need to break the silence. He wasn’t overly comfortable in his present situation. She was perched on the sink, he on top of the closed toilet seat.

Kara giggled. "Promise you won’t tell? It’s embarrassing." Tommy would have promised her the sun and the moon for another smile. "I used to watch Matlock, and I decided that’s what I want to do. I want to help people and right wrongs and find justice and all that American stuff. What about you?"

"A family friend is a lawyer," he said dryly. "And she made me believe in helping people and righting wrongs and finding justice and all that American stuff. I guess we’re just a couple of idealists."

Kara hopped off the counter and crouched down before him. "I don’t remember you being so sweet," she said with a crooked smile. She studied his face intently as if seeing for the first time that he had grown up. Tommy, acting on an impulse, leaned in and kissed her. As when they were dancing, her arms snaked around his neck, and he relaxed, content just to be in the perfect moment with her. He balked when she straddled him and began to lift the hem of her shirt.

"Whoa," was all he could say. His face turned red and he lost all ability to communicate. "What are you doing?" Kara’s eyes widened and Tommy’s blush deepened. "I know what you’re doing, but why?"

"I thought that’s what you wanted. Most guys do," she said bitterly. "You don’t want me?"

"No. Yes! No!" Tommy could suddenly hear Carlos laughing in his mind. Perhaps the opposite sex was complicated after all. "I just want to get to know you again first," he tried again.

Kara kissed him again and stood up. You’re a different kind of guy, Tommy Malloy," she told him, head cocked to one side. Then she kicked him out of the bathroom, citing a need for temporary privacy.

Thump thump. Trent opened his door. The woman standing in front of him matched the two smart raps that had summoned him: She was a conservative dresser, no-nonsense and efficient. "Can I come in?" she asked after a long silence between them. He pushed the door open wider, and she crossed the threshold. For all of her measured coolness, Trent could see a hint of uncertainty and vulnerability in her that was not there when she briefed him that morning. That glimmer of despair in her moved him.

"How are you?" he asked, and he could tell by the tone of his voice that she already had a hold over him again.

"I’ve been worse," she said evenly as she circled his dining room table, trailing a finger in random patterns. "It’s good to be home," she stopped pacing and picked up the file Trent had just hunted out of storage and was getting ready to read.

"Private Shaker’s file," she said aloud as she began to peruse the pages. "You said you didn’t have this."

Trent batted it out of her hands hotly. "I just found it. Is that why you came here? To check up on me?"

Margo leaned forward on the table, mismatched eyes sincere. "I came because I knew you’d be beating yourself up over something that wasn’t your fault."

"I made a judgment call," he amended. "It was the wrong one. I just want to fix it now."

"Me, too," Margo’s voice was soft, scared, pleading, but her eyes never wavered as they held his for a few breaths.

"Where do we go from here?" Trent asked her as he moved around the table so it could no longer separate them. The pain she had caused when she left him had dulled to a steady ache in her long absence, but her mere presence was ripping open his old wounds.

"There’s too much love here to just leave it," she answered truthfully. "We can make it work." Her voice cracked, and she stopped to gather herself. "Can’t we?"

"We’ve got a lot of rebuilding to do," Trent conceded with a sigh. "It’s good to see you."

Margo grinned back at him and the tension began to fade. "It’s good to see you, too." Margo made more small talk, deliberately pulling Trent away from the file on the table. The more distance physically that was put between him and Brad Shaker’s pages, the further it was from his mind. Before long they were telling each other bizarre work stories (of which there were many), laughing, and cuddling.

It was like no time at all had passed, Trent mused as he absently trailed a finger along her naked waist and thigh. That had to be a testament to the strength of their friendship, if not relationship. Looking back on it, he couldn’t believe how upset he had been that she left, how scared he was that she would never come back. Yes, she had come back, but only to see that Shaker’s victims were kept to a minimum. Was this all just business to her? he asked himself as he hugged her close.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him dreamily, her voice low and husky.

Trent smiled and kissed her, and she held his lips, seemingly unable to let him go. The heat and passion accompanying it nearly took them both over. No, this kiss was proof that her visit was more than a work obligation. "Nothing," he answered at last.

"You said you had a lead," Chief Cross waved a report Carlos had typed out that morning listing his findings in Oaklawn in the air.

"I do," Carlos was surprised at her reaction.

"Yes, except for one thing." She leaned in close and lowered her voice as much for intimidation as to keep others from hearing. "The sheriff’s not gay. I don’t like being made a fool in front of my superiors. Next time, make damn sure of your facts before you publish them." With that, she threw his report on his desk and stalked off. There was a common practice in law enforcement basely explained by "shit runs downhill." Carlos’ lead was as good as anything, but when his chief took it to higher-ups, they balked at the accusation of a homosexual in their midst. Chief Cross was merely letting her frustration at a blocked lead run off on Carlos.

Carlos looked down at the sheets as if they could explain any more clearly what had happened. "Shit," he muttered. He pushed himself up from the desk and walked to the end of the hallway, where he flung the door open and began climbing the stairs to blow off steam.

Detroit found him sitting on the flat, gravel-covered roof. He leaned against the side of the small shack that housed the stair entrance and watched the red sun disappear behind the jagged Dallas skyline. "I thought you had somewhere to be at six," she told him.

"I do." He confirmed the fact without emotion and shut his eyes as much to ward off the glare of the suns rays reflecting off glass windows as to ward off conversation. There was a pause.

"I heard you were afraid of heights," she said.

"I heard you have a little boy at home," he countered coolly, refusing to open his eyes. "You shouldn’t believe everything you hear."

"Guilty as charged," she said as she sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Carlos’ eyes snapped open in shock. "You have a kid and you go out in the field everyday? With your résumé, you could easily get a desk job."

"I don’t want one," she answered. Like Carlos, her voice was even and impassive.

"We got shot at yesterday. You could have been killed, and then what would your boy do? Why do you put your family through that?" he asked. Carlos accepted the inherent risk that comes with being an officer for himself, but he could never rationalize subjecting his hypothetical spouse and children to that loss. When the time came for him to settle down, he would necessarily have to give up the street. That was part of the reason he never became at all serious with anybody: he wasn’t done being Detective Carlos Sandoval. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he told himself that settling down might have to happen a lot sooner than he had ever dreamed.

"Because," Detroit talked slowly, picking her words deliberately, "no matter who I’m living it for, it’s my life. I love my son. But I love what I do. It’s a part of me." They were silent a moment while Carlos digested that idea thoughtfully. It’s a part of me, Detroit had said. He chewed: If she were to give up her job, she would still be depriving her loved ones of her. Granted, she would be alive, but did that matter if she was unhappy? A glimmer of hope budded in him as he swallowed her words: maybe he could have it all. The prospect set well on his stomach.

"Thanks," he told Detroit as he stood. He shuffled on the bumpy roof to the stair door and she heard him moan. "Why did I come up here?" he asked no-one.

A small smile crossed her face. Carlos was an alright man…a little dumb at times, but he meant well.

"Trent!" Margo called to her one-time boyfriend from the waiting room of Thunder Investigations. Despite her best tries at diplomacy, talks between Trent and Admiral Nelson had ended badly without any plan for dealing with Brad Shaker when he inevitably arrived in Dallas. Trent wanted answers; the Army wanted Shaker at any cost.

Rising from her seat, she took the two dossiers she was reading with her into Trent’s office.

"Trent," she said again with excitement in her voice. He looked up from his computer. "This is your file on Shaker, right? No one has had access to it before?"

"Where did you get that?" he asked. He had buried that folder under clothes when he got up in the morning lest Margo (or himself) be tempted. He viewed the folder as sort of a Pandora’s box; when it was open, things became irreversibly ugly. The fact that she held it now, waving it in his face, made him sickly irate.

"I saw where you put it," she breezed by the issue to arrive at her findings. "The point is, I think someone tampered with your private files."

"What?" This new accusation temporarily eclipsed his anger.

"Hear me out," she implored as she sat down across from him. "What kind of things went in the official report? The one the Army has now?"

"Uhh…basics: performance, improvement, mental attitude, mistakes, injuries," he answered.

When he took a breath to elaborate, Margo cut in. "Maybe I’ll make my point better if I ask what you put on the private files instead. Things that were unique to your files."

Trent sighed and slouched back in his chair. "The officers don’t really care about the person, just the soldier. Can he fight? Then they don’t need to know about anything else. I kept tabs on my students."

"‘Does not play well with others’," Margo read from the file now. She cited Trent’s documentation of a troubling outburst Brad displayed early on in training. That confrontation ended with Trent warning Brad and agreeing not to write him up for insubordination if his attitude improved. "That’s from the Army’s copy. I thought the point of warning him was so the Army wouldn’t know."

"I didn’t write him up!" His surprise was evident as he reached across the desk, grabbed the dossiers, and began to compare them. "Does this look like my writing?" he asked as he spun the folder around to face her.

"Actually, yeah," she admitted, shooting her own theory in the foot. If nothing else, Margo Jones was always honest, even at her own expense.

"Only one way to find out," he said as he got up from his desk and grabbed his keys.

Carlos had to walk to the back of the restaurant to find Danae. Despite his late start to the place, he was only about ten minutes late. She would forgive him that, he knew, and he suspected she had only just arrived there herself. They were two-of-a-kind as far as punctuality was concerned, he thought with a grin. It faded as a more serious thought followed: they were two-of-a-kind in a lot of ways.

"What’s so funny?" Danae asked him playfully. Her hypnotic blue eyes followed him as he walked around the table. As he stood behind her, she had to tilt her face up to see him properly, and he took that opportunity to bend down over the chair and kiss her gently.

Taking his seat across from her, he grinned again, this time at her puzzled look and red cheeks. For the most part, they had completely avoided public displays of affection, lest someone get wind of their fling. "We need to talk?" he prompted. Danae shifted uneasily in her seat and cast her eyes away.

"After dinner," she replied.

Carlos shrugged off a pang of anxiety and snapped his napkin off the table. He would rather get everything out in the open now, while things were so clear to him. The longer he sat across the table from her, watching her eat, the less certain he was about what to do. His resolution to ask Danae to marry him was wavering, and he shut a part of himself down so he could mull over the idea again and again in his mind. There was awkward small talk for a bit, but Danae had an uncanny ability to get through Carlos’ walls. Soon he was talking about his latest case, leaving his worries aside, and dishing about anxieties he was experiencing by having a partner again.

Desert came and went, and Carlos’ story was winding down. He held her eyes for a moment and folded his hands in front of him. "So…" The truth was like a real monster, sitting at the table with them, eclipsing them with his mammoth shadow.

"You know how tired I’ve been lately, right?" She barreled into her explanation without direction or coherent thought. It was very unlike Danae to be uncomposed. She was obviously as scared as he was. "Well, I went to the doctor to have some tests done."

"I know," Carlos told her to her great surprise. He decided he would spare her having to explain the whole thing. "I saw you come out of the hospital the other day," he elaborated. "I think I know what this about, so my question is," he paused and gulped, "what are we going to do about it?" He flushed under his tan; he had meant to propose there.

"I thought I’d go live with my sister," she said softly, seeing no other way to say it.

"But doesn’t she live in Indiana?" he asked dumbly. He had anticipated many scenarios, but her leaving was not one of them.

"Yes, but she could take care of me more easily since she works at home. I would be provided for."

There was a biting, irrefutable truth in her words that stopped him from comment.

"I’m leaving next week," she told him when he said nothing. "I think it’s the best thing for both of us." Her gentle voice and delicate phrasing didn’t make the blow any less intense for Carlos. Memories flashed: Danae bandaging his hand in his mother’s house, Danae stroking his head while he talked about nightmares, Danae’s face asleep beside him in the morning…

"What about me?" he asked her in a hoarse voice. He met her eyes and saw added confusion. "It’s half my problem, too."

"How is this your problem?" she asked, eyes flashing.

"It’s half-mine," he mumbled, turning red. It felt so ridiculous to say it. "The baby."

"Oh, God," she whispered as she leaned back in her chair and put a hand to her brow. "Carlos, I’m not pregnant. I…" She set herself to say what was coming. She had to prepare all over again, and this time it was harder because of the ease she had felt when Carlos said he already knew. "I have a condition. It’s bad."

"How bad?" he asked, feeling his heart rise in relief even as his stomach fell.

"I need chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant to correct it. If I don’t go through with it, I will die. Even with the treatment, well…"

"Oh, God." His mind was reeling. He tried to come up with logical questions about her "condition" and the treatment, but he was still stuck on her last words. More than anything, he realized suddenly—more than not being ready for her to be his wife or to have his child—he was not ready to live without her, and the paradox confounded and frustrated him. While he was lost, drowning in his torrid sea of feelings, Danae had said goodbye and left. She couldn’t stand to see the lost look in his deep brown eyes, not when she was so lost herself. Belatedly, he jumped up from the table.

"Sir, your bill?" The fledgling waiter didn’t know what to do about his dinner guests briskly walking out on him without paying. Carlos dug in his pocket, flipped open his wallet, and pulled out his charge card.

"I’ll be back to sign for it," Carlos told him as he tossed the card in the boy’s general direction. He hurried out to the parking lot after Danae, praying he wasn’t too late. "Danae!" He called her name once, twice, all the while running for her car. For her part, she was trying to get her door open and drive off before having to face him. She wasn’t fast enough. Carlos’ big hand leaned on her door, making it impossible for her to open it, even if it were unlocked. Slowly she turned around to face him.

"It’s amazing how much can go through one person’s mind in a split second," he told her, only slightly out of breath. She avoided his eyes and opted to stare at their shoes instead. "I thought about a lot, believe you me, but here’s how I see it." He held up a hand to tuck her hair behind an ear. "I’m a grown man who’s no stranger to break-ups, but the thought of you going all the way to Indiana and never coming back…I can’t stop shaking." His trembling hand strayed near her jaw, and she looked up, tears in her blue eyes.

"This way is better for you, Carlos," she tried, throat thick. "I don’t know if I’ll make it, and I know that it’ll eat you up. I don’t want that for you."

He barked out a laugh. "I’m not ready for this to be love," he confessed.

"I’m not asking it to be," she replied earnestly, though it was possible that Carlos never heard her because he rambled on.

"And I’m so afraid that it is. But we’ll never know if you run away." His thumb brushed away a tear, and he pulled her closer to him. "Please stay with me." He kissed her gently, not knowing what else he could say that hadn’t been said, and she returned it just as gently. With a deep inhalation, she stepped fully into his embrace, threw her arms around him, and kissed deeper.

That night, something took place that Carlos had never experienced with any woman. Despite the familiarity of Danae—he knew her body, her scent, how she reacted to his touch—there was a thrill that came from the awareness that she knew all about him, and he about her. There was a desperation that came from knowing how close he had come to missing out on this moment, this intimacy, and he hugged her tighter to ward off the thoughts of loss. She pulled him close, too, knowing how lucky they were to have one another and how unlikely it was that such perfection would last.

Margo and Trent knocked loudly on a white wooden door and waited for a few minutes for an answer. Not receiving one, they tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Cautiously, they went inside the house. The interior was sparse, due not to a lack of wealth but to a lack of interest in decorating or knickknacks. Trent had been here twice before, and he knew his way around. He led Margo through the room and down the stairs to the basement.

"Toones?" he called from the creaky wooden stairs. As the spacious cellar came into view, Margo could see that the walls were covered in posters, diplomas, pictures, and other framed papers. It was laboratory-clean under the fluorescent lights and utterly devoid of color. A weathered man with a shiny scalp under his stringy white comb-over was absorbed in work. He shuffled papers to find something on his long bench table. "Toones?" Trent asked again.

"Yeah!" In a very New York reaction, the old man jumped crossly at hearing his name. "What d’ya want?"

"My name’s Trent Malloy, and I’ve used your services before…"

"I remember you, Blondie," Toones was still cross from being startled. "What d’ya want?"

Trent briskly showed Toones the two files Margo had procured and asked about the handwriting. "Is there any way to know if they’ve been doctored?"

Toones inspected the documents over the top of his glasses and chewed on his top lip. He glanced back up at Trent and licked his fingers to leaf through the pages. As he scrutinized, he walked over to another paper-covered lab bench , where a large white box sat. After clearing it off, he put one page from each folder on the box and flipped a switch. A powerful light shone through the sheets and illuminated dark markings.

"What are those?" Margo asked.

"When you write on something, you leave indentations on whatever is underneath, if it’s paper," Toones replied. As you can see, our hero’s writing is much heavier than whoever did this." Sure enough, when Trent looked down, he saw that the page that came from his private file had thick black markings, and the page that did not held significantly thinner scratches.

"You’re sure this is two different people?" Trent prodded.

Toones glanced again at Margo. "If this is the same person, I’m a monkey’s uncle."

"What now?" Trent had pulled his sky blue corvette into his driveway and turned off the ignition. His calloused hands held the wheel at 10 and 2 even though he did not habitually drive with them in that position. He waited for Margo to answer him, for it was not a rhetorical question. The Army had gone behind his back in making him believe that Brad was dead. That betrayal was hard enough, but now that they had repeatedly been treacherous…the institution that he had once devoted his whole life to suddenly lost his respect. Who could he trust now?

"I’ll need to talk with my boss," Margo said quietly. "I think this goes a lot deeper than we know."

"What are you thinking?" Trent had picked up on Margo’s evasion of the question. That always meant she had a hunch about what was going on under the surface of things. Over the many years that he had known her, he had learned to trust her intuition.

"Honestly, it smells like a conspiracy. It’s almost like the Army used your notes as a way to select candidates for this special project of theirs, and now that the project has failed, they’re trying to get rid of all the evidence. If you brought any of this to light, the people involved could be court marshaled. It would be a major scandal that would shake everybody: defense, government, the American people." Margo trailed off.

"But if an errant student killed me and the Army apprehended him…"

"He would be the one under court marshal, and the charge would stick. The whole thing would be swept under a rug," she finished grimly. Another pause filled the car. "Trent, this is hard core. Promise me you’ll take this seriously." She grabbed his hand. "I don’t want to lose you."

Trent smiled roguishly. "You won’t lose me," he told her before he kissed her hand.

Tommy traced a finger along Kara’s jaw line, down the side of her neck, along her shoulder, side, and hips. With a shiver of delight, she pulled him closer to her on the tiny dorm bed and kissed him. She knew Tommy was completely unlike any man she had ever met before. They spent most of their time talking, and not just about movies or classes, but about social issues, beliefs, and themselves. As hard as it was for her to believe, Kara felt herself falling for him without hesitation. Well, there was one hesitation…

"You’re quiet tonight," she told him when the kiss had broken. "What’s up?"

Tommy shrugged and went back to tracing the curves of her body. "Family stuff." Kara propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him pointedly. Tommy recognized that face and sighed. There was nothing she couldn’t get him to tell her when she used those pleading eyes of hers in that way. "Something is going on that deals with my brother’s connection with the Army. He can’t tell me details, but the entire family is supposed to be on guard at all times, so it must be big."

"Sounds dangerous, too," she commented. Tommy didn’t seem too worried, so she resolved not to fret either. "How long will this last?"

"It all started last week," Tommy said. "We’re still waiting for more word."

"He’ll be alright, Tommy," she told him confidently. From what she remembered about Trent, none of them had anything to worry about. She got a tight hug as a reply. Without meaning to, Kara began to cry.

"What’s wrong?" Tommy was alarmed.

"I have a problem…" Kara began.

Carlos was helping Danae move into his apartment when it suddenly struck him how tired she really looked. How could he not have noticed it before? Her drooping eyelids, the circles under her eyes, how thin she looked…He stopped what he was doing, took the box she was holding from her hands, and hugged her tightly. She clung to him just as tightly, and he briefly wondered how she could be so strong when she looked so weak. He kissed her on her forehead and released her.

"When does your sister get here?" he asked her.

"She called me yesterday and said she and the boys would probably be here in the early evening," Danae replied.

"She’s bringing your nephews?" Carlos was surprised.

"Well, she does think she’s bringing me and a bunch of stuff back to Indiana with her," Danae said, half of her mouth curving up in a smile.

"You didn’t tell her?"

"You don’t know my sister," Danae said with a touch of awe in her voice. "This is probably the best way to do it. She needs to be down here anyway for the transfusions—"

"If she’s a donor," Carlos interjected.

"Let’s hope so!"

"So you haven’t told her yet?" Carlos pressed the issue.

"She needs to be down here for the transfusion anyway," Danae explained, "but if I told her I’m not coming back she might not come down at all."

"Why not?"

"You don’t know my sister," she said again. She’s very stubborn and always convinced she’s right."

"Sounds like someone I know," Carlos said dryly.

Danae’s cell phone rang, and she looked at the number before smiling wanly and moving off into another room. She came back several minutes later. "She’ll be here within the hour," she told him.

"If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were scared of her," he teased.

"All I’m saying," she told him with a laugh, "is that I’m glad you carry a gun!"

The two resumed trying to fit Danae’s belongings in Carlos’ apartment. They divided her boxes into piles of things she would want or need and things Carlos already had that could be stored for the time being. A light tap on the unlatched front door brought Carlos and Danae out of the bedroom, where they were finding space for her clothes. Danae’s sister, followed by her two dark-skinned sons, entered the room. Danae embraced her sister who, despite being three years older, looked like her twin. They shared the same piercing blue eyes, honey colored hair, and light-but-sturdy bone structure. Danae was scant inches taller than her sister, and thinner, though the other was not fat. With slight amusement, Carlos decided that she appeared how he imagined Danae as a mother: sensible and in-control.

"This is my…this is Carlos," Danae said, drawing her sister inside. "Carlos, this is Vanna, and my nephews, Pete and Luther."

Vanna shook his hand briskly, though he felt her measuring gaze dissect him quite slowly, even after she had turned back to her sister. "Where should the boys start?" she asked.

"Actually, I need to talk to you about that," Danae started.

"Danae!" Vanna rolled her eyes and sank down onto a cluttered couch.

"Carlos is going to look after me," Danae tried again.

"How well do you know this guy?" Vanna exclaimed, gesturing toward him. "Am I not good enough?" Carlos decided then that Vanna was Danae’s doppelganger, not her twin.

"Vanna, no!" Danae sank to the floor in front of her sister, and they began a heated argument amongst themselves. Try as he might, Carlos could not discern what they were saying from his vantage point, and he dared not get involved. Carlos scratched his head in defeat and, leading the boys into the kitchen, offered them water. He studied them briefly; Danae had never told him Vanna’s husband was African American. It was an interesting family dynamic he had not known about, and he was unsure how to take it. On one hand, he knew he would be accepted by Danae’s family, but on the other hand, he wanted to know for sure Danae was not simply copying her older sister. Carlos was saved trying to start conversation with the boys by a phone call. He had the distinct feeling that Pete and Luther would not be overly chatty after Vanna’s display in the living room and welcomed the distraction.

"Carlos, it’s Tommy. Do you have a minute?"

Carlos peeked around a wall and saw that Danae and her sister were still arguing. "Yeah, sure," he said. There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Tommy?"

"How do you know you’re in love?" he blurted out suddenly. "I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m in love, but how do you know when you’re ready for marriage?"

"You’re not," Carlos replied flatly.

"Please hear me out," Tommy said, and the gravity of his tone made Carlos take heed. "This is something I’m seriously considering, and I need your advice."

It was Carlos’ turn to pause. "Listen, right now I’m dealing with a crisis of my own. Can I call you back?"

"This is urgent," Tommy pleaded. "I can’t promise to wait…"

"You could always talk to your brother," Carlos tried, "or your mom…"

"It has to be you." Of this, Tommy was sure. Carlos had a more secular view on life than the wife or son of a preacher. Further, Carlos could always be counted on to give honest counsel. If Carlos believed in Tommy and Kara, he would give his blessing. Tommy couldn’t count on his brother to understand or his mother to let him go, and Carlos was a good ally in this endeavor. Tommy did not doubt his feelings, but he knew he lacked wisdom and foresight to believe in the longevity of a marriage so young.

Carlos sighed. "Can I…can I meet you two somewhere tonight?"

"Both of us?" Tommy asked.

"It affects the two of you, so yeah," was the reply. "I’ll meet you at that Greek place on 4th."

"When?"

Carlos peered around the corner again at the still-feuding sisters. "Better make it two hours."

Margo came back to Trent’s empty house after a quick visit to her parents. There was no message to be found saying where Trent had gone, and he hadn’t told her he was leaving. She sat down on a couch and looked around the empty room. The closer it got to Christmas, the more Trent seemed to be pulling away. His sudden reclusion was not limited to just her. She knew for a fact that he had not spoken to his family since the FBI set up surveillance on the Malloys. Briefly, Margo thought about calling Carlos, but he, too, was wrapped up in the troubles of his own life and probably knew less about Trent than she did.

With a sigh, she stood up from the couch and walked to the bedroom. She quickly changed out of her dress suit into relaxed sweat pants and an ugly t-shirt. She had one last guess as to where she might find her wayward love.

Love. That was another thing they hadn’t discussed since Margo came back, she thought as she started her ignition and backed out of the driveway. She had always loved Trent, even when they were just kids on the playground. Now that relations had become so muddled between them, she was unsure if they were still in love anymore. When he looked at her sometimes, she felt the familiar spark between them, but those sparks were few and far between.

Still confused, Margo stepped out of her now-parked car and crossed the street. She paused for a heartbeat before opening the door to Thunder Karate, just long enough to gather her thoughts and push aside her doubts. Inside, the dojo had the same lonely feeling as Trent’s house had before she left, though here there were at least rhythmic clanks and occasional grunts punctuating the emptiness. Margo walked along the edge of the sparring floor and climbed the steps to the balcony, where Trent had moved all the weight machines. There she found Tommy first, his face closed and brooding. Just behind him, Trent was working a different machine.

There’s too much brooding in this family, she thought. "Just like your brother, huh?" she teased Tommy.

"I’m not trying to be Trent." Tommy’s reply was almost angry.

"There are worse men to be," Margo pointed out gently. "He’s a good kid."

Tommy shrugged and extended his feet out in front of him, pushing against the weight load. Releasing it, he stood up, wrapped a towel around his neck, and met Margo’s eyes. "He’s just a little slow sometimes."

"What do you mean?" Margo was taken aback by this new side Tommy was displaying. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was alluding to her relationship with Trent.

Tommy put a hand on her shoulder. "You know what I mean. Don’t let him drag his heels forever." Before she could react, he was jogging down the stairs. Margo puzzled what he said as she approached Trent.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he replied in kind, face dull and even. There was a pause, and then a slow smile came to his lips as he pushed the barbell away from his chest. "What are you doing here?" he asked as he lowered the weight.

"I thought you could use a trainer," she said, using Tommy’s cryptic metaphor. "You shouldn’t be alone." Trent thought about it as he finished his reps.

"I’m glad you’re here," he said at last. He sat up and tossed her some arm pads. Downstairs on the sparring floor, Trent jabbed and kicked, each time striking the large cushions protecting Margo’s outstretched hands. As an FBI trainee, she was comfortable with the routine. Trent asked her about her visit with her parents, then they switched roles. The fighting Margo knew was more closely related to boxing, so she spent her time punching. "I’m tired of waiting for him," Trent said after a while. Margo lowered her fists.

"Every hour he’s not here gives us a chance to find out what’s really going on," she said, jabbing again.

"But we’ve had no new leads. All we have is a suspicion that may or may not be true. I feel completely helpless."

"I talked to my friend in JAG," Margo told him as she circled for another punch. "He promised to get back to me this week with anything he can tell me."

"I’m sure that will be informative!" Trent replied sarcastically.

Margo grinned. "He can’t divulge classified information, of course, but he will let me know if we’re on the right track or if our theory is grounded. It’s a start."

Trent moved the pad out of her reach, and the momentum of her punch carried her forward and turned her around. Trent dropped the pads and stepped to his right to catch her in his arms. "I can’t wait for this to be over," he murmured in her ear.

"I know, kid," she said. "In the meantime, we’re all here for you. I’m here for you."

"I wouldn’t have it any other way."

"Kara’s going to meet us here," Tommy said as Carlos slid into the booth across from him. "I needed to talk to you alone first."

"What is this about?" Carlos asked.

"Life is short, man. I see you and Danae, Walker and Alex, my brother and Margo…I don’t want to end up like any of you," he explained.

"What do you mean?" Carlos was amused, not upset, by what he had said.

"I see the way you and Danae look at each other," Tommy went on. "Even if you guys thought you were hiding your feelings, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re both gone. And now…" Tommy didn’t have the heart to continue his train of thought. Danae had told everyone about her illness the day after Carlos found out.

"Life is short," Carlos agreed grimly. "Still, you think she digs me?" he asked brightly. No one but Trent knew about their secret relationship yet.

Tommy laughed. "Without a doubt. And then I see Trent and Margo. They’ve been together since," he sighed. "I don’t know; it’s been a while. She’s left him, he’s left her.…They deserve each other! And while I understand they’re not old, they’ve missed out on the best years of their lives together because they were scared to tie the knot. I just don’t understand why Trent and Margo just don’t commit to each other officially. I don’t want to make his mistake."

"And you think after only sixteen weeks with this girl, you would be making that mistake?" Carlos asked.

"When we were little, we used to play together all the time. Up until she moved away in the sixth grade. I’ve known her all my life, Carlos, and I don’t think I can go the rest of my life without her. It’s like she’s my best friend, except our relationship is somehow different than that. It’s…"

"Intimate," Carlos finished his sentence softly. "Is she pregnant?" Carlos asked after a pause. When Tommy shook his head, Carlos went back to thinking. They were both quiet a moment, until Carlos finally said, "Your brother will kill me."

"Nah, I got your back," Tommy said lightly.

"When do I meet the bride-to-be?" Carlos asked with a laugh.

Danae was lying on the couch, hand over her face, when Carlos came back. "What’s going on?" she asked him without moving.

Carlos took off his jacket and kicked off his shoes before approaching the couch. "Just a little Romeo and Juliet stuff. I get to be best man in Tommy’s wedding tomorrow." Carlos gently lowered himself on top of Danae and hugged her. The arm on her forehead wrapped around his broad shoulders and squeezed in return. "I took him out and bought them matching wedding bands. I wanted to make it as official as possible." He produced the rings from his pocket and showed them to her.

"That’s incredible," she whispered. "That was a very nice thing to do. Can you afford it?"

"I didn’t let him bankrupt me, no," he said with a laugh. "Your sister got to the hotel ok?"

Danae sighed and gave him the rings to put away. "As far as I know, yes. She wasn’t happy about my decision to stay."

"Are you happy about your decision to stay?" He propped himself up on his elbows so he could meet her eyes. Danae tilted her head up to meet his lips, but he pulled away. "You didn’t answer my question," he told her seriously. He needed to hear her say that she chose him, but he desperately wanted her mouth on his. He felt drawn to her kiss as though it were the center of a whirlpool, and his own lips spiraled toward it.

"Yes," she whispered. Her lips parted in a smile. "I want very much to be with you until the end."

Carlos broke down and kissed her softly. "That almost sounded like a proposal."

"If I survive this, maybe it was," she returned.

"You’re going to come through this," he told her, and for the first time, he felt confident saying it. He didn’t wait for a response, but kissed her again, this time passionately, and she pulled him closer, wanting to believe him.