The next day went by quickly. Carlos took the afternoon off to attend Tommy’s wedding. He stood to one side as a pastor, a good friend of Tommy’s late father Thunder, read the ceremony. As Tommy slid the narrow gold band onto Kara’s finger, Carlos tried to imagine himself and Danae in that position. Would she smile just like Kara did and ignore his trembling hand? Would his whispered vows have as much sincerity behind them as Tommy’s did? After they were pronounced man and wife, Carlos gave them both a huge hug.

"When are you going to tell your mother?" Carlos asked the young man.

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I don’t know."

"There’s some stuff we need to sort out first," Kara said.

"I’ll tell them soon," Tommy promised. He and Kara left the chapel hand-in-hand, and Carlos watched them go. The nuptials were very poignant for him, and he wondered again if he could ever make that commitment to anyone. He very much doubted he could. Maybe he just wasn’t marriage material. But Danae…

Carlos flipped open his cellular when he was outside the tiny church and called his apartment. Danae answered. "Hey," he said warmly. The mere sound of her voice was enough to brighten his day. "I was thinking I’d make you dinner tonight. A nice dinner. We’ll be gluttons for one night, and hopefully that will see you through the hospital food."

"You don’t have to do that for me," Danae replied.

"Hospital food, Danae," he reiterated.

"On second thought, what’s the Sandoval special?" she asked.

"I’ll be home in 45 minutes, and I’ll show you," he promised. Carlos flipped his mobile closed and put it in his inner breast pocket. He was digging for his car keys in another pocket when a woman called his name.

"Detective, I was hoping we could talk," Vanna said evenly.

Carlos put on his best "chagrinned" face and pretended to be amused instead of annoyed by the fact that she followed him from work to the church and waited outside until he left again. "Were you…"

"I understand my behavior is odd," Vanna replied. "But I needed to talk to you alone."

"Hum." Carlos’ one-syllable reply was ambiguous. In truth, even he wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

Vanna adopted a more comfortable stance and looked at Carlos with her intelligent, dissecting gaze. "When you look at me, you see her as she could be." Vanna followed Carlos’ eyes as he looked down and tried not to hear. "One day," she added. "And I can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re conflicted about that idea. Danae told me you thought she was pregnant and wanted to do the right thing by her."

None of what Vanna had said was a question, so Carlos didn’t venture an answer.

Vanna pursed her lips and tried another tactic. "Are you a family man, detective? Is family important to you?"

"Family is…precious," he said slowly, not at all sure why he was talking to his stalker about something so personal. "It’s fragile and too easily broken."

"You speak from experience," Vanna noted. "Who left a hole in the family? Parent or sibling?"

"My brother." Carlos struggled to keep his voice even and impassive. He knew she would catch any sort of emotion, however mixed, and probe deeper into the issue. As this conversation went on, he became more and more wary of Vanna’s motives.

"Were you going to propose to her?" Vanna pressed.

"It crossed my mind a few times," he stated in a controlled voice.

"But you didn’t. You’re not ready for such a commitment, maybe."

"When I find the right girl and the right time, I’ll take that plunge. I’ll have to. That’s what love is all about."

Vanna grinned lopsidedly, and Carlos recognized Danae’s face in her sister’s features. "I think you’ve found the right girl," she told him. "I just hope you get your moment."

"Is she hiding something from me?" Carlos asked. "About the illness?"

"I don’t think so," Vanna said. "It’s serious enough, but not usually fatal. I just worry about her." She stepped back from Carlos. "I’d better get back to the boys," she said before turning on her heel.

"Vanna," Carlos called to her. She turned back around. "What is it that you do for a living?"

Vanna grinned again. Danae had the same expression when she was about to tell someone about the more unpleasant sides of being a medical examiner. "I’m a forensic psychologist," she announced with dramatic flourish, arms lifted in a dancer-like pose.

"A forensic psychologist and a forensic examiner," Carlos mused. "Interesting."

"We were a morbid family," Vanna said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Margo slammed the door hard, which brought Trent out of the living room, where he had been studying the case files. "What’s wrong?" he asked.

"They want to take me off the case!" she shouted, hot tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them away. "I’m too involved," she said sarcastically. "I can’t be objective."

"Maybe they’re right," Trent said. "You are pretty close to the case." Margo froze mid-gesture. She clenched her jaw shut to cut off a biting retort and dropped her bag on the floor.

"Maybe they’re right, but I’m still the most qualified for the job!" Trent began to speak calmly, but she cut him off. "You came looking for me a long time ago," she reminded him, voice lowered. "Tell me that wasn’t a conflict of interest and I’ll kick your ass. But if anyone could have found me, it was you. And you did. And now I’m the one who can put this to an end if they’d just let me have the chance."

"So you’re off the case?" he asked.

"Yeah," Margo said more evenly. Her rage had passed and now she just felt frustrated and bone-tired. She walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. "I’ve requested to be transferred to the Dallas office." She picked up the papers Trent had in semi-neat piles all over the coffee table and began to read.

"What if they don’t grant it?" he asked casually.

"I don’t know," she replied frankly, meeting his eyes. "I want to be here. For that matter, I want to be on the case, but that might be beyond my control." She sighed and rested her elbows on her knees. "On a lighter note, I heard back from my friend in the JAG. He says our fears are not unfounded, but we need proof. Except now we can’t get proof, so we’re really quite stuck and helpless. That’s pretty convenient, don’t you think?"

"You think they’re deliberately taking you off the case because we’re getting close to something?" Trent frowned.

"I think they’re deliberately taking me off the case so that Shaker can get closer to you without interference," she replied darkly.

"What do they gain by having Shaker take me out?" he asked. "That doesn’t make any sense."

"You’re thinking about it all wrong," she said. "Ask yourself what they gain by having you take Shaker out."

"A no-questions-asked ending," Trent said grimly.

"Let’s play this game," Margo suggested, "If I were Brad Shaker, where would I go?"

When Carlos got back to his apartment, Danae was in an armchair talking to someone on his couch. He nearly dropped his bag of groceries when he realized who it was. "Chief Cross!" he greeted her, juggling the paper bag awkwardly in his arms. "What a surprise!"

Danae rose from her chair, took the bag from Carlos, and disappeared with it into the kitchen, leaving him alone with his boss.

"Sandoval, I had some news for you, and it couldn’t really wait," Cross said. "The city has given the go-ahead on an undercover stint in Oaklawn. I put together a small team of six people, and you’re on the list."

Carlos’ eyes darted over to the kitchen, where Danae was washing some of the vegetables under the tap. "I have some personal issues to deal with right now," he began to say, when Cross cut him off.

"This isn’t optional," she said firmly. "There will be two teams. With three people each that puts you guys on eight-hour shifts. Consider it a vacation from the hours you usually work."

"What will we be doing?" he asked.

"Taxi service," she answered. "Detroit thought that having cops in cabs would better our grasp on the situation out there. Right now we have nothing. This assignment will run for a week initially, unless there are signs that we’re making progress, in which case we will extend it as necessary."

"Yes, ma’am," he agreed.

Cross eyed him strangely and turned to leave and Carlos followed her to let her out. "Is Danae ok?" she asked softly once they were at the door. Carlos shrugged in reply. "Listen," she said, her voice strangely human instead of its normal professional tone, "if she takes a turn for the worse, don’t be afraid to say something. We’ll get you covered."

"I appreciate that," he said, "but I think she’s going to be fine."

Cross smiled and for the first time, Carlos noted that his boss had a very pretty face. "Sure." And with that, she opened the door and left him thinking about a lot more than dinner.

One week: It had been one week to the day since things had gone horribly wrong.

Danae had started chemo therapy. Seven days later, she looked even sicker—pale, thin, and hallow—than she had before. Her hair was beginning to come out in clumps. Her eyebrows were thinning. She looked like she hurt. Carlos visited her once a day, more when he could spare the time. Each time it got harder and harder to go back. After just one week of smiling at her skeletal face and her empty eyes and telling her she looked beautiful, he doubted he could stand even another day.

One week since Margo had been shipped back to Washington D.C. for reassignment. Trent doubted he could stand even another day without her. He missed her terribly, in a new and different way from before. Then he missed physical things about her: the sound of her voice, having her there to hold, the taste of her mouth. Now he missed her constant reassurance, the dreamy look in her eyes that she had always had, even when they were kids. Most of all, he missed her sharp mind and spot-on instincts. His own told him Brad was getting close.

One week since Tommy had to bail he new bride out of jail with money he didn’t have. It’s amazing how children perceive the world around them, or rather, what they don’t perceive. Kara’s father was a deadbeat and a drunk, and he loved to hit women who didn’t hit back. Kara had dragged herself to school every day, even if she were sick with a raging temperature, and had joined as many extra-curricular activities as possible to get away from him. But they never had any money, and she turned to peddling drugs to get by. She never used, and she never sold to minors, but she still compromised herself. Early on, she had learned that a wink and a flirty smile, letting the boys cop a feel, sold more product. Now that she had Tommy, she dared not bring him into this, and her "friends" had ratted her out.

Carlos buried himself in his work to avoid it. Not only did he then not feel guilty for spending less and less time with Danae, but it gave him an excuse to blow off friends and family who wanted him to talk about it. Carlos wasn’t a talker by nature, except with Danae, and airing his feelings to her would defeat the point of avoiding the problem.

Trent hid himself in his martial arts. There was a competition coming up for his students, and he drilled them tirelessly so that they could be ready. After class, he drilled himself until the point of exhaustion because he felt his own struggle upon him. One week, and he felt as honed as he’d ever been, even when he was in the Army. Now all he had to do was wait for Brad.

Tommy busied himself with school, end-of-the-semester finals, and nightly talks with Alex Cahill-Walker, an old family friend and the assistant district attorney. If Kara provided information about who manufactured the drugs where, who was selling and who was buying, the state would be willing to look the other way this one time. The problem was, Kara had been in so deep for so long that she regarded a number of these people as friends, and a select few as the family she never had. Now that she had Tommy, it was easier to sever some of those ties, but it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Are you ok?" Kim asked Carlos warily as he trudged in the door of Thunder Investigations.

"I’m fine," he sighed.

"You don’t look ok," she pressed. "Is Danae…"

"She’s doing as well as can be expected," he snapped. "I’ve just been working a lot lately. Especially on these case files you need me to finish. I thought you would appreciate it."

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. She recognized a futile conversation when she heard one. "Whatever."

Carlos dropped his finished files on her desk and went into his office to retrieve more. He put them into his brief case, and left as abruptly as he came in. He had made sure to get in and out quickly, knowing Trent would be occupied with karate lessons for at least another hour. While he could rebuke Kim with grumpiness, he knew his best friend of countless years wouldn’t be as easy. That done, he forced himself to go to the hospital. At the cancer-wing desk, the nurse in charge handed him a clip-on badge identifying him as a visitor, and he slowly walked down the stark hallway to Danae’s room. The closer he got, the slower his steps became. When he approached the door, he stopped. He reached a hand out, but never touched the knob. Instead, he sat down on the floor just beside the doorway and tried to muster up the courage to stand back up and enter.

Danae had been right to want to go back to Indiana, he realized. She didn’t think their relationship, such as it was, would be able to stand the test of hospitalization, and she didn’t want to force Carlos into that. And now he was miserable and had no-one to blame but himself.

A nurse in pink scrubs came out of Danae’s room and startled him from his thoughts. Obviously, from the way she jumped, he had startled her. She smiled, hand on her heart to calm her down. "You can go on in if you want," she said pleasantly. She couldn’t have been much older than 25.

"How is she doing?" he asked, mouth dry and voice raspy.

"So far things look good. They’ll probably do the transplant in a couple of days." Carlos nodded as if he understood the complex processes behind medicine. "Are you the husband?" she asked. "I know it can be hard to see a loved one like this and…"

"Um," Carlos interrupted with a smile and the dark tension melted out of his face, "I’m just a friend. Do you have a vase?" He held up his bouquet of lilies. Lilies were Danae’s favorites. "I forgot one and…"

"Sure," she smiled, and she led him further down the hall to the nurses’ lounge. Even in the unshapely garments, Carlos could tell this woman had a nice figure. Once, he thought she looked back and caught him admiring her form. He thought she smiled again. "How long have you known her?" she asked.

Carlos sighed and scratched his head. "Almost a year. We met on the job."

"Oh you work together?" she asked, surprised. She was standing on a stool, searching boxes above the personal lockers.

"I’m a cop," he said. "We met at a crime site."

The girl laughed. "That’s horrible!" Carlos grinned back, though she couldn’t see him. With a triumphant "aha!" she found an old vase, and jumped off the stool. She washed out the bugs and dust in the sink and handed it to Carlos. He attempted to smash the flower stems into the tiny opening, at which point the nurse took the vase, and the flowers away from him. She pulled off the ribbon from around the stems and looped it around her neck. She then arranged the lilies prettily so they wouldn’t fall over. Carlos brushed her soft blonde hair to one side and delicately retrieved the ribbon, which he tied around the middle of the vase. They locked eyes for a time, until the nurse looked down at her wrist watch. "Yikes! Visiting hours are over."

"What about?" Carlos began.

"I’ll take her the flowers, but you need to go turn in your badge or we’ll both be in trouble."

Carlos took his time walking back to the center desk, where he turned in his badge and signed out. By the time he was through meticulously writing his name, the nurse had caught up with him. She smiled at him again, then talked to the nurse in charge. He overheard her say her shift was over and just happened to walk her to the elevator. She enticed him to go out for a drink, and before long, they were back in her tiny apartment, where Carlos found out just how good a figure she had.

Katie Malloy had to beg and threaten to get her family together for the first time in almost a month. Trent had been gone and out of the house for a while, and she was still adjusting to life without Tommy around to keep Tandy and Taylor in line. They all lived in the same city, but just couldn’t seem to find time for each other. But tonight she had convinced all of her children to come for dinner, which she was making an elaborate affair. Baked chicken breasts, Katie’s specialty, were roasting in the oven, the home-made rolls were cooling in a basket, and she had wild rice boiling on the stove. She flurried around the kitchen, careful not to overcook or overlook anything (she had a separate entrée for her daughter Tandy, who had decided vegetarian was the way to go). As the aromas began to take over the house, Trent arrived in his blue convertible. He jogged up the front steps two at a time and greeted his mother with a warm hug.

"I hope you don’t mind," he said, "but I brought a guest."

"Margo!" Katie exclaimed. "Oh please, call me Katie," she corrected Margo’s greeting. "It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You’re looking well!"

Katie continued to ask Margo questions about her life while she set another place at the table. Margo had somehow managed to get transferred back to Dallas, and so was sticking around for good. "You know your brother is bringing a guest, too?" Katie asked Trent. "He wouldn’t say who it was, which makes me suspicious. Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?"

"Well he hasn’t said anything to me," Trent answered. Just then, Tommy and Kara pulled into the drive. Tommy entered much the same way Trent did, though he paused to re-introduce Kara before hugging his mother. Katie then hugged Kara in greeting.

"Well, I can’t forget you, either!" she told Margo, who was also graced with an embrace. "Trent, go get your siblings. Dinner’s going to be ready, like, NOW."

Dinner was as good as Katie had hoped, if she could judge by the compliments and (more importantly) the grunts of satisfaction all around the table. Taylor and Tandy were more animated than she had seen them in a while, telling school stories. For the most part, Trent and Tommy were content to listen, and their younger siblings had the good manners to ask Kara and Margo about themselves. There really wasn’t a need for Katie to talk, or for Trent or Tommy.

The dishes had been cleared and ice cream had been served when Tommy dropped his bomb.

"Kara and I are married," he said, the hand that held Kara’s clammy.

The result was rather comical, or it would have been if Tommy wasn’t so scared of the outcome. Everyone ceased eating, spoon half-way between bowl and mouth, and gaped. Taylor’s ice cream melted under his hot breath and plopped back into the bowl, and the rest of the table released. Katie sat back in her chair, while Trent looked decidedly confused.

"Well?" he prodded the silence.

"Give me a minute," Katie said, eyes full of tears. She turned away from the table.

"Is that allowed?" Tandy asked in awe.

"No!" Katie, Trent, and Tommy all said quickly.

"I’m sorry, Tommy, this is just all so sudden," Katie said. "I’m happy for you, I really am, but I wish you would have let me be there." She got up, walked over to her son and his wife, and hugged them both. "Congratulations," she said. "Welcome to the family."

"Well while we’re on the subject," Margo said as she pushed back her chair, got down on one knee and took her boyfriend’s hands in her own, "Trent Malloy, would you do me the honor of being my husband?" Everyone laughed, including Trent, and Margo bit on her lip to keep from smiling. "I’m serious!" she exclaimed.

Trent agreed, and another round of hugs was given.

Carlos had on one of his favorite hats, a soft black golf hat that used to belong to his father, while he was undercover. He was dressed quite simply and casually, and he had taken to thinking and speaking in Spanglish. He figured that if his costumers thought he had minimal mastery of the language, they’d be more apt to talk in front of him.

"We here, no?" he asked the plump, well-dressed man in the back seat. The man passed up a rather large bill. "Change?" The man didn’t answer, but opened the door. "Gracias, señor!" he shouted as the door was slammed shut. Carlos pulled away from the curb and tried to remember what the rules were about keeping tips. He would have to ask Chief Cross.

He didn’t obsess over his fling with the nurse whose name he never discovered. Not knowing her name made it seem less real, and he was rather mildly surprised to realize that he didn’t care. Not about the nurse’s name, not about the sex, none of it.

At his core, Carlos knew he was missing Danae, but she was barely recognizable to him anymore. He knew that he could be very happy for the rest of his days if their relationship continued as it was, but sooner or later, she was bound to want something more final, something more profound than the commitment he was willing to make right now. And just because he would be content didn’t mean he would be happy. They both deserved better than that.

He turned a corner and noticed two very sharply dressed men walking on the other side of the street. For some reason, they looked familiar to him. Of course, right now everyone looked familiar to him. He’d been here everyday for a week with minimal sleep and maximal stress. Nevertheless, Carlos decided to go up to the next block and turn around so he could get a closer look.

As it turned out, when he caught back up with the men, one of them had disappeared, and the other flagged him down. The man got in and directed Carlos to drive to the bank.

"You work there?" he asked.

"I own it," the man confirmed.

"I have stocks," Carlos said, turning half-way around. He quickly faced front again, but his show of eagerness was enough.

"I’m not an advisor," the man said. He attempted to describe his job.

"You no have stocks?"

The man fell into Carlos’ trap and explained in great detail just what the demands of his job were. Before Carlos could try to get more information from him, they were at the bank. Interestingly enough, the plump man Carlos had chauffeured earlier had made his way there on foot, even though it was a long walk. Suspicious? Maybe. Carlos wrote himself a note when his passenger had left. As he was parked in front of the bank, the back door opened and closed again.

"Where to?" he asked as he snapped his notepad closed. He glanced in his rear view mirror, and it was all he could to refrain from gaping. "Where to?" he asked his passenger again as his heart began to beat faster.

"Holiday Inn," was the calm reply.

Carlos quickly looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming before entering the flow of traffic. In Oaklawn the streets were always busy, though there were few cars actually on the road. Instead, a large amount of people walked in this area, and drivers always had to look out for the pedestrians. As Carlos threaded his way in and out of the populous, his mind was racing. How to call for backup without attracting his passenger’s attention? Carlos was unarmed, and he dared not take on one of Trent’s former students. In all honesty, Carlos wasn’t entirely sure the man he was bussing really was Brad Shaker, but the man resembled a picture Carlos had seen of the AWOL veteran once.

Carlos pulled up to the door of the hotel and quoted the price of the taxi ride. He got a punch in the face as a reply.

"How are you feeling?" Trent asked Danae. She made a face in reply.

"I’m so bored with this," she said. "I’m not sure how many Strider, Ranger of Texas reruns I can take. Strider’s stupid girlfriend gets kidnapped way too often."

"Has Carlos been to see you today?" Trent asked.

"He actually hasn’t been around for a couple of days now," she said. "I don’t think he’s a fan of hospitals."

"Not when his friends are his reason for being there," Trent agreed. "The last time I was in the hospital—I was banged up BAD—he punched a hole in the wall."

"Not a happy camper," Danae mused.

"Well, I just asked because I haven’t seen him since…"

"Since I’ve been here?" she asked. "Poor Carlos. I never should have stayed."

"Don’t say that," Trent said. "You’re one of the best things to happen to his life, and he needs all the good luck he can get. Besides, you have to be here for the wedding."

"Tommy?" she asked.

"Me!" he laughed. "Margo and I are planning a spring wedding and oh my God you knew about Tommy and Kara."

"Carlos told me the last time he was here," she tried to fib.

"I didn’t even know until last night!" Trent said. "How did you know?"

Danae sighed. She could tell Trent wasn’t going to let her keep her secret. "Carlos…was there for the ceremony," she said.

"How long ago?"

"Couple weeks?" she said. "Tommy asked Carlos for advice, and he didn’t want Tommy to have to go through it alone."

Trent was shocked, amused, and angry. "I just can’t believe my own brother didn’t tell me!" he said finally.

"I’m sorry," she said. "I didn’t mean to cause trouble."

"It’s not your fault," he replied, distracted. He forced a smile. "Get better, ok? I have to get back to work." He left Danae and went to the desk, where he turned in his visitor’s badge and picked his cell phone back up. This particular hospital was adamant that no phones would be used. Once outside, Trent turned his phone back on, and saw that he had one missed call from Carlos.

Still upset with his friend, Trent decided to ignore it for the time being.

Instead he called his little brother. "Carlos was your best man?" he asked.

Tommy audibly sighed into the phone. "I didn’t think you would let me get married right away, that’s all," he said. "And I wouldn’t have blamed you for trying. But I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. I’m not sorry."

"I guess what hurts more than you not trusting me enough," Trent said slowly, "is that I wasn’t there to be your best man."

"I’m sorry," he said. "You can still be my brother, though!" he said with a laugh, which Trent returned. "Don’t be too hard on Carlos," he said more seriously. "He helped us out because he knew that I wasn’t making a horrible mistake you would blame him for. He bought us wedding bands, too, which Kara really appreciated. He’s a real pal."

"Yeah," Trent said. There was no use dwelling on things that could not be undone now. "I just don’t like being in the dark."

"Next time I get married, I’ll let you know ahead of time," he said sarcastically.

"There’s no good answer to that," Trent said, the amusement apparent in his voice. "What’s married life like?"

"Well, we’re going through the ‘worse’ part of the vows right now," he said. "It can only get better." Tommy proceeded to tell his older brother about Kara’s situation.

"It sounds like things are working out," Trent said when Tommy told him that a lot of the organization had been jailed and Kara’s charges had officially been dropped. "Keep your chin up." They chatted for a bit longer before they said goodbye.

Trent debated with himself, then dialed Carlos’ number. The voice that answered sent chills down his spine.

"I just need to talk with you," Brad said. "Your friend will remain unharmed if you agree to meet me. If not, well, you never know who will be next."

"Leave them out of this," Trent said, fighting to keep his voice objective. "They’re innocent."

"I will do whatever is necessary to accomplish my objective," Brad said more forcefully. "What’s a few innocents verses hundreds? Thousands?"

"I’m listening," Trent prodded.

"Good. 5^th and Bartlett, 20 minutes," his one-time pupil said. "Call the cops if you want, but I will not be responsible for the bloodshed." Brad Shaker had ended the call, leaving no time for Trent to negotiate.

"Here." A cold pack was thrust into Carlos’ hands. From the flimsy feel of it, Carlos guessed the pack came from a first aid kit. Grateful despite the quality, he held it up to his broken nose. At least the bleeding had stopped. The dried blood was caking and tugging on the delicate skin around his nose, stinging his swollen eyes. He determinedly willed away the tears; when his nose had first been broken, his eyes had watered madly, and even the pressure of small cascades of tears down his cheeks aggravated his wound.

It took too much effort to see, so Carlos let his eyes swell mostly shut and listened instead. Shuffling. Mumbling. Brad was saying something about a misunderstanding, and then the shuffling of feet began again. At first it was rhythmic: normal nervous pacing sounds. Now it became erratic, and new scraping sounds could be heard, but there was a definite pattern to it. A quick snap of clothing confirmed that Carlos’ captor was practicing martial arts.

"Ki yup," Carlos slurred, at once in pain as the pressure around his nose became severe.

"What?" Brad asked.

"You forgot to ki yup," Carlos said again. A hotness was on his face, Brad bending down to sneer at him. Carlos jumped as the man yelled a guttural syllable, his ki yup. Carlos waved a hand dismissively. "Carry on, then."

A door slammed, and Carlos waited for another sound: a voice, breathing, more shuffling. He could hear traffic outside; he could tell they were tucked away from the main road, and if he were a psychotic ex-Army assassin, Carlos would make sure his headquarters were hidden from outside view, too. He had to be in an inner chamber. He waited a couple more minutes for Brad to come back, then took the ice pack from his face. The effort of opening his eyes nearly sent him into a swoon, but his vision cleared and he saw that he was right. There were no windows in this room, and only one door.

With a grimace, he made himself look down to confirm that his feet were tied to the chair he sat in. Brad had taken his shoes and socks off, presumably so that if Carlos did manage to free himself, he couldn’t run far. One hand was tied close enough to him that he couldn’t reach the ropes on his feet, but far enough away that he could still hold the ice pack. The knots were elaborate enough that he would need more than one free hand to work on them. These army guys were smart about keeping prisoners.

"Ok, MacGyver," Carlos said to himself, "Get yourself out of this one!" But as he looked around the close room, he saw nothing that could be made into a cutting instrument. In that case…

Carlos began to use his teeth and free hand to try to untie his other hand. It was painful work, as his entire face still radiated pain with every bite. Damn these military men and their impossible knots! Carlos, however, was endowed with an amazing ability: he could untie anything. Within five minutes, he had both hands free, and he started to work on his feet. Bending over in his chair caused the blood to rise to his head, and his nose began to sluggishly bleed again, fat red drops splattering on his bare feet and the floor. Brad Shaker had got him good with that punch.

While he worked with the stubborn knot at his feet, he kept one ear cocked in case his captor was returning, but the whole building seemed eerily quiet. Finally he was free. He smashed his wooden chair on the floor a couple times until a leg came loose enough for him to pull it off. There was no way he could take Shaker without a weapon, and though he doubted a stick would be the weapon to give him the advantage, it was better than nothing. He crossed the room quickly and as quietly as he could. Silently, he turned the door knob, then flung open the door with a yell.

"Shit!" he said before he turned tail and ran as fast as he could for the back of the room. An impossibly loud sound erupted behind him and he could feel the lick of flames at his back. He dove over a desk in the back corner and curled into a ball as the explosion ran its course. Apparently, Brad had wired explosives to detonate if the door was opened from the inside. Luckily, it wasn’t enough to bring the entire building down. Carlos was sooty and sore, and his clothes were probably ruined, but he was alive, for the time being.

Carlos sized up the situation carefully, the all-too familiar rush of adrenaline drowning out the throbbing ache of his fractured face. A fire now separated him from the only way out of the room. Within minutes, the room would be so smoky, he’d pass out from lack of oxygen, and the building seemed so dilapidated he didn’t trust the fire not to spread rabidly before then. The only option left to him was to try to get out via the burning doorway.

Not for the first time, he wished he had shoes, and he looked around quickly trying to find some substitute. At least he still had his hat, which would protect his head and hair. With an inward sigh, Carlos pulled out a drawer from the desk and took it over next to the doorway. Through the heat, the frame of the door seemed to swim sickly before his eyes. He dropped the drawer on the floor and stood in it. With a quick prayer, he began to scoot the box as quickly as he could through the flames. By the second jump in, his eyes were watering. By the fourth jump, he could feel the heat coming up through the bottom of the drawer. By the fifth, he could barely make out a clear part of the hallway. Gathering his legs under him he prepared to jump and roll.

As he was sailing through the air, arms extended reaching for the floor, he had time enough to smile. Trent had drilled him relentlessly on falls and rolls for a month in their weekend lessons. When Trent demonstrated, his rolls were fluid and silent. Carlos bumped along the ground when he tried, and even the soft landing mats had knocked him breathless. Now he was going to try to land on a hard wood floor. His fingertips felt the grain of the wood, and he ducked his head, letting the meaty part of his shoulders catch most of his weight and using his curved back to guide him to his feet.

It was perfect.

Trent would never believe him.

Conveniently, the room Carlos had been in was at the dead-end of a hallway, so he only had one direction to go. He stumbled coughing down the corridor, finding his way mostly by touch. The first window he came to he opened. The ground was a few feet down, so he hopped out of the first-floor window onto the soft, cool grass. Now that he had escaped, the pain was coming back with a vengeance. His nose felt like it had been punched through to the other side of his head, his lungs were screaming for air, and the bottom of his feet felt raw. He had just enough sense left to drag himself a few yards away from the building before he collapsed on the sidewalk.

The demolition crew gaped in disbelief at the form that crawled out of the window and collapsed at the edge of the road seconds before they were going to throw the switch on the old building.

Trent got to Fifth and Bartlett as fast as humanly possible if only to get his bearings and try to stay one step ahead of Brad. As it was, they arrived there at precisely the same time. Brad raised both of his hands, fingers splayed so Trent could see that he was unarmed. Trent didn’t let up his guard. For that matter, he went unarmed everywhere, and it didn’t make him any less dangerous.

"I just want to talk," Brad said when they were but a yard apart.

"I just want my friend safe," Trent replied.

"By now I’m sure your friend has escaped, unless you trained him as poorly as you trained me?" Brad asked.

Trent felt a pang of guilt, but stuck his jaw out defiantly. "I did my job, soldier. They told me you were dead."

"I was only doing my job, and they told me you didn’t even try to look for me."

"Think about it!" Trent replied. "Why would they focus your attention on me abandoning you? Why would they word it so that you became emotionally involved when your basic training teaches you to put those attachments aside?"

"I don’t care about any of that!" Brad yelled. "I’m tired of being a soldier. You can’t imagine the things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done…"

"Why have you come here?" Trent asked. "I can help you, but you need to work with me. You have to trust me and tell me exactly what has happened to you."

Brad jerked oddly, and a flower of blood bloomed on his shirt. He dropped to his knees, stricken, and Trent rushed to his side, supporting his head and neck. With his other hand, he tried to stop the bleeding. But the army was well trained in everything it did; the bullet was a direct hit to his heart. Brad moved his lips, floundering as his lungs filled with fluid. "Pocket," he gasped. "Pocket."

Trent quickly rifled through his fallen student’s pockets until he found a cassette. Quickly, he palmed it, a trick he learned from Carlos. While Trent had been teaching him useful self-defense moves, Carlos would teach him the finer aspects of picking locks and slight-of-hand tricks. For once, the ability came in handy. By the time Admiral Nelson and his sharp-shooter arrived at the scene, Brad was dead.

Seething with rage, Trent wiped his bloody hand off on Admiral Nelson’s uniform and left them to deal with the body. By the time they caught up with him that night to get a statement, Trent had given Margo the tape, which contained Brad’s complete confession and testimony against Nelson. Margo had rushed to turn in her report for fear that the Army would take any evidence out of her possession.

Margo and Trent went to go pick Carlos up from the hospital after they had done everything possible. Now the matter of Brad Shaker became a waiting game. Would the Army cover for its own or would justice be served? It was a delicate matter, seeing how sacrifices had to be made in the name of national security. Trent had listened to the tape, and he realized that Brad’s assassinations had been necessary, if such a thing could be said. Trent had grown up believing murder was never an answer and was always a last resort, but as the saying goes, "All’s fair in love and war." What wasn’t fair was the way Brad had been the one sacrificed, the innocent whose life was stolen so that other innocents could be spared.

Carlos looked sore. His body was stiff from the days exertions, though miraculously he suffered no ill effects from the fire. His eyes were a sick purple and green underneath his tan, and his nose would forever have a slight angle to it. His mind was occupied not with politics and morals, but with Danae. All he wanted at this point in time was for her hands to play over his face and body and make the pain and tension drain away. He knew he had to tell Danae about his fling with the nurse, or that guilt would always be there between them. He just wished either the physical or emotional anguish would go away so he could sleep.

Carlos indeed slept badly, and early in the morning he gave up on it all together. He stumbled into his kitchen and started the coffee pot and opened the refrigerator to make some breakfast. His eggs over easy were sizzling in a pan when his phone rang. "Sandoval, it’s Cross. I don’t know if you’ve seen the morning news yet. We busted the disturbance up at Oaklawn, so there’s no need to come in to work today."

"Oh," he said. "Who was it?"

"Apparently some big time thieves were having problems negotiating with a banker-associate of theirs. Detroit followed up on the notes left in your taxi." There was a pause while Carlos was still to sleepy to say anything, and Cross wasn’t much for conversation. "Um, Detroit went down during the bust. She’s at Dallas Memorial and was listed in stable condition last I heard."

"What happened?" The smell of burning butter reminded him to take the skillet off the heat, and he turned his attention back to his boss.

"A few of the gang members disappeared, but two of them refused to be taken. One of them used a child as a shield, and when Detroit didn’t take the shot, he took his. She took it in the leg and still managed to get a shot off when he turned to run," Cross said. "PR is less than thrilled about it. By the time she shot him, helicopters were out, and they got the whole thing on tape. There’s pressure to take her off the streets. She could use a friend right now."

Margo pointed the remote at the TV and turned it off. She rolled over in bed and propped her head up on her elbow. "So what do you think?" she asked.

"I can’t say I expected anything different," Trent said, voice disappointed. There was a news story about Brad Shaker, hero of the War on Terror, who had come back with a "Gulf War Syndrome" analogue and imploded on the streets of Dallas yesterday. "Obviously, the Army covered its tracks. The fact that Brad gave me that tape…that’s why they made him out to be a hero."

"You don’t think maybe he really was sick?" she asked. "And the tape was testimony to his sickness?"

"Is that what you think?" he asked, looking at her.

"I was just saying that the facts of the case can lead to two very different conclusions depending on which side you believe."

Trent sighed sadly.

Carlos arrived at the hospital and dallied in the waiting room for a bit. The more he was visiting people in the hospital, the less he liked them. For him, hospitals were symbols of pain and suffering, houses of misery. As he looked around, he noticed a young boy with a dark mop of hair and very large eyes who seemed to feel the same way. Something about the kid’s eyes…the sincerity in them…

"Are you Detroit’s boy?" he asked as he approached. The solemn eyes bobbed as the boy silently nodded. "How’s your mom?"

The kid shrugged. "They won’t let me see her."

"Where’s your dad?" Carlos asked.

"I don’t have a daddy," he said.

Carlos sat down next to him. "I’m Carlos. I’m a friend of your mom’s."

"Are you a policeman too?" he asked. Carlos nodded. "What did you do to your face?"

Carlos laughed and made up an answer about it being police work. "I’m going to go check on your mom. I’ll be right back." He asked at the ICU desk and a nurse pointed and gave him directions to Detroit’s room. As he went through the sliding doors, he looked over his shoulder and gave a tiny wave to the boy.

He found his way to her room, where she was resting comfortably in a bed, right leg elevated and in a cast.

"Bullet shattered the bone," she told him miserably as he sat down. Up close she looked weak.

"At least you’re alive," Carlos said. That earned him a feeble laugh.

"Will you take Jones for me?" she asked. "He doesn’t have any other family, and I don’t want him to be alone…"

"Sure," Carlos said. "Do you mind me asking where his father is?"

"He left even before he knew I was pregnant," Detroit shook her head. "He never kept in touch, and it suits us just fine."

"And there’s no-one I can call?" he asked. Detroit shook her head.

"You might have been right," she said at last. "About putting your family through hell because of your job…"

Carlos cut in gently. "You’ve got a little boy out there who can look up to his mother because she stood up for what she believed in. He knows you’re a hero, and that’s what counts."

Detroit shut her eyes and smiled as if she agreed, and then her monitors went flat.

Trent brought the pizza over to Carlos’ place later that night. Jones was asleep on the couch in front of the TV, so the two friends and Margo stayed in the kitchen and talked. Trent had just finished telling about his phone conversation with Vanna. She believed that Brad had been telling the truth and didn’t show signs of any kind of mental trauma from war though she stressed that psychology was an inexact science. Trent had decided to leak copies of the tape to every major paper and tabloid he could. At least he could start a conspiracy theory and get satisfaction that not everyone was being fooled by the glittering hero story on TV.

"How’s Detroit?" Trent asked.

"She’s in a coma," Carlos said, picking at his slice. "The cast they had on her leg actually hurt rather than helped. She tore some artery and just bled out. They had to cut the cast off to do anything."

"What about the kid?" Margo asked.

"Jones?" Carlos paused. "I actually want to keep him around. You know, adopt him or whatever."

"Are you serious?" Trent asked, blue eyes wide.

"He doesn’t have any family," Carlos lowered his voice further. "I’d hate to see him go through the system. Plus, it’d just be until Detroit wakes up. She asked me to take care of him…"

"Is she going to wake up?" Margo asked.

"I don’t know," he replied. He finally forced himself to take a bite. In the past two days he had barely eaten and had not slept at all. Even if he didn’t feel like it, he needed to eat.

Trent raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair. "That’s a lot of responsibility," he said. "Are you sure you want that right now?"

Carlos took a long drink and considered. "I want it now more than ever," he said truthfully. Margo pursed her lips. She obviously didn’t approve of the idea. "Look, I’m going to go see her tomorrow. I know what I’m doing, Margo."

Margo sighed. "It’s not that I don’t think you’d make a good daddy, Carlos. I’ve always thought you’d be a great one." She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "I just don’t want to see you bite off more than you can chew. What will happen when Danae gets out of the hospital? What happens when Jones has a parent-teacher conference?"

"I’m not saying it’ll be easy," Carlos replied, brown eyes level and sincere. "But it’s what I want."

Carlos was awakened in the middle of the night when Jones came into his bedroom and shook him. "What’s up, little man?" he asked sleepily as he sat up. In the darkness, he could only make out the fuzzy form of his head.

"I want to see Mommy," Jones said.

Carlos shifted over in the bed, and Jones crawled under the covers. "Your mommy is sick," Carlos told him. "She’s very sick." He paused. "Sometimes when people we love get sick and they look different, it makes us sad."

"Do you love my mommy?" the little boy asked.

"There are different kinds of love, Jones," he said. "Your mom is very brave and stubborn, and I respect her for that. She’s a good friend to me." They were silent a while, but Carlos knew Jones was still awake and thinking. He smiled to himself; Carlos didn’t remember being so introspective when he was seven. "You still want to see her, don’t you?"

"Yes."

"Ok."

In the morning, Carlos took Jones to the hospital and held his hand while he peeked over the edge of the hospital bed. Seeing the fear in his wide brown eyes, Carlos tried to explain about the IVs and respiratory tubes. The explanation took the edge off of the fright, and Jones ventured to touch her hand lightly.

"She can hear you, if you want to talk to her," Carlos suggested. Jones proceeded to tell her about Carlos’ apartment and cooking.

"I’m being brave and stubborn, just like you," he concluded somberly. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Carlos looked up to see a portly man with a clipboard in his hand standing in the doorway. A smile tugged at his lips. From his manner of dress and the laminated badge around his neck, Carlos guessed he was from social services. Jones took Carlos’ hand again and looked up at him expectantly. They went out to the play area, where Jones began building something out of legos. Carlos sat down with the social worker and filled out paperwork.

"This is extremely unorthodox," he warned him. "But the assistant district attorney called us and assured us that you were fit for the task. Seeing how Jones interacts with you, I’m inclined to agree." Next, the man went on to tell Carlos what kind of environment he was required: he would absolutely have to cut back on hours at work and minimalize the number of night shifts he worked. "For the first couple of weeks, we’ll send someone out to your house to evaluate your progress. Sometimes the transition is difficult, and the visits are for support." The man stood up, and Carlos followed suit, taking his hand.

"Thank you," he said.

"Are you going home now?" the man asked.

"I’ve got one more stop," Carlos replied.

Jones held Carlos’ hand as he quietly entered the dim hospital room. Danae was asleep. Rather than wake her, he pulled up two chairs and he and Jones sat down and watched her.

"Who is she?" Jones whispered.

"Her name’s Danae," Carlos whispered back. "She’s…" he searched for the best word to describe her relationship to him. "beautiful," he said at last. They watched for a few more minutes before Jones began to fidget. Carlos sent him to get drinks from a pop machine. As he left, Danae’s eyelashes fluttered open.

"Carlos?" she asked as she sat up.

"Hey," he said.

"Who was that?"

"Jones," he said. "Detroit’s son. I’m going to be taking care of him for a while."

"How did this happen?"

"It’s a long story. How are you feeling?"

Danae managed a smile. "Better. Not as nauseous anymore."

"Did you get my flowers?" he asked as he stood up and approached her. She was still sealed off from casual contact, so he stood as close to the plastic curtain as he could.

"Not since the last time you came to see me. What happened to your face?"

Carlos told her the story of the past couple of days.

"Your face looks pretty good, considering," Danae said after he finished. "Poor Trent. How’s he holding up?"

"Listen, I came here to tell you something…" he began.

"I know, and I don’t want to talk about it," Danae cut in. "I know this is hard for you, and I don’t blame you for wanting to find someone else."

"There was someone else," Carlos said, "But it’s over. I only want you."

"I don’t think you know what you want," she said briskly. "I think this was a mistake. I appreciate your friendship, and I hope you don’t take it personally when I tell you that’s all I can offer you right now."

"So that’s it?"

Danae sighed. "No, not forever. But right now I need to focus on me. And you need to focus on you and Jones. Maybe when I’m better we can try again if you still want me. Right now, though, I just need a friend."

Carlos nodded. "I’m sorry," he said. Danae looked away, and he could see her chin waver. "Can I come see you tomorrow?"

She nodded. "I’d like that," she said, and Carlos said goodbye. He felt hollow and empty now, and wondered how everything would have turned out if he hadn’t hooked up with the nurse. He could speculate all he wanted, but the truth was he would never know. Jones took Carlos’ hand and they walked outside together.

"So, Jones," he asked. "What do you like to eat?"