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Chapter Text

He had been a rock until that moment, the shoulder on which his entire family had cried over Oscar's death - the puppy, the surprise child, the unexpected son, but now Julio couldn't take it anymore.

After the funeral, he slipped away from the crowd of relatives, friends, acquaintances and colleagues who had come to offer their condolences - empty and useless words that would serve little to none purpose - and went to his old room. He sat on the bed he had occupied as a boy, before joining the police force, and staring at the ceiling, he lit a cigarette.

It had been at least five years since he had smoked his last cig,, but he needed a way to release the tension, distract himself, not think even for just a moment, and smoking was better than getting drunk until he forgot his own name.

"Julio?" Hearing his name called, Julio turned towards the door of the room. Mike Tao - his friend, his partner - was standing in the doorway, watching him hesitantly. "You disappeared and I got worried.. Everything okay?"

Julio shrugged. He didn't know how to answer because he didn't even know how he was feeling.

Oscar had died in his arms. His little brother had bled on him. Could a person be okay after something like that? He doubted it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mike asked him. He had sat down on an old office chair that had probably seen better days.

"Not particularly, no." Julio exhaled a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. His eyes were closed, and his mind was full of thoughts despite wanting just a moment of peace and silence. He wasn't asking for much. Just five minutes.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had slept.

"Julio..." Mike began. His voice had a friendly and concerned tone. He placed a hand on Julio's knee and squeezed it, as if he wanted to get his colleague's attention. "Keeping everything inside isn't good for you."

"You know what would be good for me?" Julio chuckled. He threw the cigarette on the floor and put it out with the tip of his shoe, black and shiny. The funeral uniform. "Finding out who killed my brother."

"Julio, I can't do that!" Mike almost shouted excitedly. He bit his tongue and lowered his voice, hoping no one had heard the small altercation between the two. "Julio, you know I can't give you information about the case. You'd end up doing something stupid."

"Oscar was what, three years older than your son?" Julio pressed his lips together. His face was all hard lines, a mask of anger. "If something had happened to him, you'd be coming to me asking for help, and you know I'd give it to you. You know it!"

"You won't do anything foolish?" Tao asked, not daring to look Julio in the eyes, fearing he would lie to him. "Do you promise me?"

"I just want to find out the truth, Mike." Julio sighed. "To know if it happened because of me. Because I'm a cop."

Mike took off his glasses and ran a hand over his sweaty forehead.

He already knew he would regret it.

Chapter Text

“They didn’t even wait for you to get back on your feet, huh?”

Julio was openly flirting with a cute nurse who was busy getting him comfortable - a young thing who kept blushing and pretended to be shy and awkward - but as soon as he heard Chris’ voice, he gazed in her direction. She was dressed in plain clothes - just a striped t-shirt that emphasized her curves, along with jeans and running shoes. She was leaning against the doorframe of his hospital room like being there was the most natural thing in the world. 

She rarely smiled without being sarcastic, but when she did, like in that moment, it was a thing of beauty that reminded him of Mucha’s ladies on those old Art Nouveau paintings.

The nurse seemed to feel the sudden change in the air. She awkwardly stood up, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and simply made her way out. Chris stared at the nurse leaving, not sure she was reading the situation right. In her opinion, people were weird and complicated. She had always preferred numbers to them because numbers couldn’t betray and hurt you. 

“Did I interrupt anything?” She asked, a bit worried, as she went to sit on the edge of Julio's bed. She and Julio had been sleeping together every now and then - a harmless affair with benefits - but he had been her friend for a long time. She wanted him to be happy - and maybe fall in love again, one day - and she didn’t want to risk being in his way.

“Nah, it was just some harmless flirt. I’m a poor heartbroken widower who almost gave his life up to save his superior. Chicks dig that. And…” He shrugged. He retrieved from his nightstand a small black velvet box, and threw it at her like he didn’t care at all. “And I’ve got this.”

“Pope and Taylor had been going on and on about this all morning.” She opened the small velvet box, and looked at the medal, a badge of honor, a sign of glory, and clenched her teeth as her vision blurred. He had almost died, been through almost endless surgeries, and all he got was a piece of metal, and a publicity stunt for the department. Journalists (especially Ramos) were barely writing his name.  

As he sensed her mixed emotions, Julio tried to sit and reached out to her, but  he didn’t manage it. He hissed, as he felt a jolt of pain running from the freshly operated shoulder to his whole body.  For a short moment, he even saw black. 

“Don’t! You’ll end up reopening your stitches.” She stopped him from straining his still healing body. She smiled down at Julio and lifted an eyebrow a bit maliciously. “Unless you want some cute girl to look over you?”

“You offering, Carter?” He chuckled. She was leaning over him, looking down at Julio. She was wearing her hair down that morning, and it fell over him like a curtain. Julio closed his eyes, inhaled deeply her scent, chamomile, vanilla and  something else he had never been able to point out exactly, but that gave him peace and tranquility. 

It never failed to reassure him. Calm him down when he was upset. 

“You all right?” She asked, as she delicately skimmed over his medication. “Should I call someone to check on you?”

He shook his head, still keeping his eyes closed. He covered her hand with his own, and squeezed it, gently and yet firmly. 

Even with closed eyes, he knew she was blushing. 

“I’m fine.” He reassured her, with a smile on his lips- an honest one, true, the kind of smile she was crazy for, because they were so rare for him. “I’ve got it.”

She smiled back, and cuddled against Julio, inhaling his scent. Underneath all the hospital smells, she could still feel the sweet notes of his aftershave, Old Spice.  It was as if a small piece of the puzzle was falling back into place even if it was just something random, something almost insignificant. She felt it was a sign he was on the mend. Like he was ready to return to his old life - to her - even if their time together was limited.

She closed her eyes and dozed off without feeling the ghost of a kiss on her forehead. 

Chapter Text

A blow to the left cheek.

"I don't like this." His fingers gripped the links of the cage erected around the ring, separating the audience from those who agreed to put themselves on the line and fight. He was clinging to the metal with such force that his hands hurt, and the skin was cutting.

A hit under the chin.

"Chief..."

Gabriel turned to Johnson, who was watching the ring where Sanchez was fighting. The Los Angeles Deputy Police Chief had her lips pressed into a straight, hard line. She couldn't stop staring at what was happening to one of her detectives. She didn't even dignify Gabriel with a response.

Another blow to the face.

"Chief, if we don't do something, that guy will kill him."

Johnson closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They couldn't stop the operation because the orders were clear - and they came directly from above, and they couldn't even allow Sanchez to counterattack because if he won, they risked jeopardizing the operation. Sanchez was tough, he had almost become a professional boxer as a young man. Too bad his opponent was an ex-pro with a wrestler's physique.

Julio, in the ring, took another hit and staggered, walking backward.

Johnson bit her lips, looked around.

"Sergeant, play along with me." The Deputy Chief approached her subordinate - one of the few people she truly trusted - and whispered something in his ear. She moved away from him, feigning indignation, and slapped him before storming off angrily.

Gabriel rubbed his cheek - it would leave a mark.

In the ring, Sanchez's opponent was about to finish him off. Julio was on the ground, but the other was on top of him, continuing to hit him as if he were a killing machine.

Gabriel held his breath, turning towards the direction where Johnson had fled.

He prayed that her idea would work.

Another blow, to the cheekbone, the right one this time: Gabriel hissed through clenched teeth and prepared to climb into the ring himself and stop everything, even pull out his badge if necessary.

The fire alarm went off, the bell echoing throughout the building's basement.

The audience began to scream, run, flee; organizers, managers, trainers, and Julio's challenger left the cage and ran in the opposite direction.

Gabriel remained still, waiting. And then, once the crowd had gone, he entered the cage and hoisted Julio onto his shoulder. Johnson rejoined him, disheveled after being overwhelmed by the terrified spectators.

"Curious how someone pulled this lousy prank at just the right moment, isn't it?" She asked him, smiling mischievously and playfully.

Gabriel burst out laughing, feeling so light that he didn't even feel Julio's weight on his shoulders.

Chapter Text

Bold: Spoken in Russian

Cursive: Spoken in Spanish

“People are gonna make assumptions if you keep showing up in my hospital room, mi querida.” Julio snickered at the sight of his partner - and friend with benefits - Carter leaning against the door of his hospital room. Like a few days before, she was wearing casual clothes, but today they seemed a little more dressy - almost as if she had tried to make an effort. A good detective with a keen eye for details, Julio lifted a quizzical eyebrow.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, Sanchez.” She huffed as she went to sit lazily on the chair next to his bed. “I just drove my mum here. She likes to read to the kids in the pediatric ward on the weekends. Says they are the closest thing to grandkids she’ll ever get because, her words, my siblings and I are all hopeless.”

“So, I’m just a way to pass time while you wait for her?” Julio asked her, wearing a pretended pout on his face. 

“Yep. Exactly.” She chuckled, and Julio laughed slightly. He moved the pillows at his back, getting more comfortable: the shoulder was still giving him some small issues, it had been only a couple of weeks since the shooting after all.

They small-talked, stuff from work he was missing, the nurses flirting with him, his mother hovering over him like a mama bear, Carter’s date with a friend of Doctor Morales (an idiot who worked for an investment bank), her mother’s constant plea for grandchildren… They were having a good time, a gentle reminder of the fact they were friends first, coworkers next and casual lovers for last. 

“Julio? My child?” As they heard the words uttered in Spanish, they both turned toward the door. Looking at them suspiciously was Julio’s mother, Ramona Sanchez. Her gaze was laser-focused on Chris, and she didn’t seem to like her son’s companion too much. “I didn’t know you had a visitor.” 

She stormed into the room; she started setting the bed sheets, the pillows, everything - even if Julio was blushing and kept telling her to stop. 

Still, she never stopped to stare maliciously at Chris for even just a second. The cop bit her lips, awkwardly stood up and cleared her throat - it was almost time to go get her mother anyway. 

“So, I’ll guess I’ll see myself out.” She uttered, her voice so low it seemed she was talking to herself. 

And she couldn’t stand it when people didn’t like her. She was a people pleaser, after all. Always had been.

"Kristina, moya dorogaya?" The Russian words made Chris turn. As she nodded in Ramona's general direction, Julio looked over his partner's shoulder and saw a blonde woman. Early sixties, she had perfect blonde curls, styled to perfection, and her clothes were impeccable just like her makeup. He had seen her just once before, in passing, but she had always been the kind of woman who left an impression. She still did.

He remembered that someone once told him that if you wanted to know how a woman would look in a few years, all you had to do was look at her mother. If the old saying was true, then Christine Carter would have been still one sexy minx in twenty years or so.

“I guess I’ll see you when I see you, Julio. Mrs. Sanchez, it was a pleasure.”

It wasn’t - not because Chris didn’t like her (she hadn’t been around the women long enough to have an opinion), but because Carter knew she wasn’t liked. 

“Julio, are you sure you want to be with this one?” Ramona asked her son. She would talk in her mother language, and yet steal glances in Chris’ general direction. She wasn't even trying to lower her voice, confident that her son's "girlfriend" didn't know a single word of Spanish. “She is not a latina, and, look at her! Those hips? They are not made for bearing children!”

With one foot out the door, Chris blushed a deep crimson and stopped, staring ahead. Valeryia steadied her purse over her shoulder, and hissed slightly. She didn't know Spanish - but she knew people. 

“She was talking about you, wasn’t she?” She hissed as she turned on her heels and stormed back into the hospital room. “And it sounded an awful lot like an insult. Did you just insult my daughter?” 

“ Mama, please, don’t make a scene…” Chris begged with puppy dog eyes. She was tense and uneasy, still as red as a tomato. “Mrs. Sanchez didn’t mean to insult me. She has simply wrongfully assumed that I was in a… relationship with her son, while we just work together and are good friends.”

“Oh, you speak my mother language, then?” Ramona uttered with her broken accent, despite being born in the US. She lifted an eyebrow and smirked a little - that fact that Chris knew Spanish had just earned some major points.   

“Of course she does!” Valeryia almost cried. “What have you taken us for? My daughter speaks four languages!” 

“Well, small hips, a communist, but at least the kinds will speak spanish..” Ramona shrugged. 

“A communist? I escaped from Russia!” Valeryia shrieked. She had stopped talking in English altogether, moving to Russian simply out of rage - like she had used to do with her children when they drove her mad as little kids. “ And your son should be honored to have a girlfriend like her! He should thank God! His good fortune!”

“You are one crazy lady, I don’t know what you just said, but I’m not sure I like your daughter so much for my son! ” Ramona waved a hand at Valeryia in the air, like she was dismissing her. 

“Still sounds like an insult to me.” Valeryia groaned. She took a few steps towards Ramona, and the two women stood face to face, eye in the eye. “And I don’t like it!”

They went on and on for a while, trying to one up the other, each in her own language; Chris and Julio stood there, sitting, and watched the scene without saying a word- it was like watching a crash, and being unable to look away from the carnage. It was even better than the movies - all they lacked was a salty snack.

Finally, Valeryia stamped her feet on the ground like a wounded animal (at least in her pride) and stormed out of the room. Chris rolled her eyes and sighed. She squeezed Julio’s shoulder and smiled kindly at him, and nodded again in Mrs. Sanchez’s general direction.

As she tried to reach her mum, she felt like she hadn't heard the last of it.

Chapter Text

“See, just do it like this, it's easy.”

Mark tried again to pull the fishing pole line, while Julio, behind him, helped him, guiding his gestures in a gentle way, allowing the little boy to copy the movements the policeman had made just before. 

Mark tried once, twice, three times, then, finally, the line fell into the water, and laughing happily, the little boy sat down on the picnic stool beside his adoptive father. It was a beautiful day, sunny but not too hot, there weren't too many people around, and that little lake outside the city seemed like an oasis of peace amid the chaos of everyday life in Los Angeles. 

“Gee, Julio, I don't get it.” Mark scratched his head, uncertain. “Why is there no hook and bait?”

“We are here to pass the time and enjoy the scenery, kid.” Julio smiled at him from under his baseball cap. “And maybe spend a few hours reading, chatting, that sort of thing.”

Mark burst out laughing, a laugh that filled Julio's heart: he was madly in love with that child, knowing that he had changed his life-that he made him happy-made his heart burst. 

He never thought something so simple could be so perfect. 

Chapter Text

It’s summertime, and the air in Los Angeles is heavy with humidity, making it all the hotter. The sky is clear, with not a cloud in sight. 

It’s Sunday, Julio’s favorite day of the week since he made it to lieutenant - having people working for him, it means it’s easier to actually be off on his day off. How many times had he worked overtime when he was in Major Crimes? He doesn’t know;  he lost count. 

But now he is a single father, he doesn’t have his mother helping him out any longer, he has responsibilities (he is happy to uphold).  Even if he misses his old team, he likes his new life.

A part of him thinks that it suits him just fine. 

And then… there’s her. 

He and Chris hadn't seen each other  since she left the team if not on passing- It’s been four years, more or less, and yet, the moment she sat down next to him at St. Joseph for a play, he felt it - nothing had changed at all, it was like time hadn’t passed. 

In Valeryia's garden, they enjoy the shade of a huge tree while Lily is trying to teach Mark to play chess. The notes of “Closer” by The Chainsmokers fill the air, its words almost ironic because they are just them.

Four years no call, and now I look pretty, he hears the female voice sing, and it’s true- four years, and Chris still looks as pretty as she did when she first walked past the sliding doors of the murder room. 

(Maybe even more. Motherhood suits her.)

He tells her about what she lost, about Rusty, Amy, the time Flynn and Provenza found a dead realtor in a place Andy and the late Sharon Raydorwanted to purchase, and at the memory of their antics she laughs and shakes her head slightly. 

Julio doesn’t join in, he just stares at her, caressing her with a sweet gaze.

“What?” She asks him, blushing a little. She goes to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, but Julio is quicker and he does it for her.

“Noah once told me he fell for you the first time you rolled your eyes at him.” He chuckles. “But me? You had me the moment you smiled at me.” She blushes, deep red.

“I can’t believe I fell for such pick-up lines.” She smiles again,  and he plants his mouth against the sensitive skin of her neck, falling in love a bit more with her each minute.

Under the shade of a big, old, tree, Julio steals a kiss from the woman he is sure one day he’ll marry.

Chapter Text

Fitz stood outside Brenda Leigh Johnson’s front door, feeling an unfamiliar twinge of nervousness. The sun was setting behind him, casting a soft golden glow on the quiet street. He glanced down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand—classic daisies, nothing too formal. After all, this wasn’t their first time out together, but it was their first real date.

He adjusted his collar, wondering how this night would go. Brenda had always been a mystery to him. Brilliant, stubborn, and a little chaotic—but that's what he liked about her. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. He raised his hand to knock, and before his knuckles touched the wood, the door swung open.

“Sorry, I thought I heard ya out here,” Brenda said, smiling that wide, open smile of hers. But it wasn’t the smile that stopped Fitz dead in his tracks. It was the dress.

She was wearing a yellow summer dress—light, airy, and simple, with thin straps that sat delicately on her shoulders. It wasn’t anything like the usual tailored suits she wore to work or the sweaters she threw on when they spent evenings together casually. This dress was different—soft, feminine, and somehow more Brenda than anything he had ever seen her in.

For a moment, Fitz just stood there, taking it all in. He hadn’t realized until now how much yellow suited her. The color seemed to brighten her already golden hair, which fell in loose waves around her face. It brought out the warmth in her skin, making her eyes—those sharp, observant eyes—shine even brighter.

“Well, are you gonna stand there or say somethin’?” Brenda teased, a playful glint in her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe.

He blinked, suddenly realizing he’d been staring. “Sorry—uh, you just… You look—” He cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “You look beautiful, Brenda.”

Her smile softened, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure about this dress. It’s not what I usually wear, but I thought it’d be nice for a change.”

“That’s exactly it,” Fitz replied, stepping closer. He handed her the bouquet, noticing how the daisies matched the soft yellow of her dress. “It’s different, but in a good way. Yellow suits you.”

Brenda took the flowers with a small, surprised laugh. “Yellow, huh? Never thought of it that way.” She glanced down at the dress, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “I don’t wear much color, do I?”

“No, not usually,” Fitz admitted, thinking back to her usual wardrobe—efficient, practical. The kind of clothes that matched her no-nonsense attitude at work. But this dress? It was the opposite of all that. It was carefree, soft, like a glimpse of the Brenda who existed when she wasn’t carrying the weight of her job on her shoulders. “But it’s nice to see you like this,” he added, his voice more sincere than he intended. “It suits you.”

She smiled again, a bit more bashfully this time. Brenda Leigh Johnson, shy? It was almost too hard to believe, but here she was, standing in front of him, looking almost unsure of herself.

“Well, I’m glad ya like it,” she said quietly, holding the flowers up to her face and breathing in their scent. “These are lovely.”

Fitz felt the last of his nerves melt away. He reached for her hand, their fingers brushing as she took a step closer. “Shall we get going?”

Brenda nodded, locking her front door behind her as she slipped her arm through his. “Where are ya takin’ me, anyway? You’ve been so mysterious about it.”

He grinned, guiding her toward the car. “I thought we’d keep it simple tonight. There’s this little place by the water—not too fancy, but I think you’ll like it.”

She looked up at him, curiosity in her eyes. “You know I’m not big on fancy.”

“Exactly,” he said, opening the car door for her. “I figured something a bit more relaxed would be perfect.”

As they drove, Fitz couldn’t help but steal glances at her. The way the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the windows and danced across her dress made him realize how much he was looking forward to tonight. Not just the dinner, but being with her —Brenda, outside of work, outside of the pressure of solving cases and dealing with office politics.

He had always admired her, respected her intelligence and her tenacity. But lately, it had become something more. The moments they spent together after hours, the stolen conversations over takeout, the subtle glances they shared during meetings—somewhere along the way, admiration had shifted into something deeper, something he wasn’t quite sure how to define yet.

When they arrived at the restaurant, a small, charming bistro overlooking the water, Brenda smiled in approval. “This is perfect,” she said, her hand still resting on his arm as they walked in.

The evening passed in a blur of laughter and conversation, easy and unforced, just as he’d hoped. Over wine and a simple but delicious meal, they shared stories—some work-related, some personal. And through it all, Fitz found himself returning to the same thought: how the yellow dress, with its sunny, effortless charm, seemed to reveal a side of Brenda that he hadn’t fully seen before.

As they walked back to the car, the cool evening air wrapping around them, Brenda leaned into him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. He felt a warmth spread through his chest, a quiet contentment settling in.

“You know,” Brenda said softly, her voice a little dreamy as she looked up at the stars, “I think I might wear more yellow from now on.”

Fitz smiled down at her, his heart full. “I think that’s a good idea.”

They stood there for a moment, the sound of the water lapping gently against the shore, the quiet hum of the evening around them. And in that moment, Fitz realized something—something he didn’t need to say out loud, because it was written in the way she looked at him, in the way her hand stayed in his, in the way her smile softened whenever he was near.

Yellow didn’t just suit Brenda. She suited him.

And for the first time in a long time, that felt exactly right.

Chapter Text

They’ve talked about this, and he knows her. Julio he is sure this is what Chris wants, too, and yet…

Yet, he hasn’t been this scared in a long time. Scared- and yet hopeful. 

“What is it?” She asks him through heavy lidded eyes, leaning a little against Provenza’s desk - she is a little inebriated, a couple of glasses of champagne would do that to you, and yet her smile has never felt this genuine. 

Chris garbs Julio for his tie and tries to get him closer, hoping to steal a Christmas kiss just next to the three Provenza’s wife insisted on putting in his brand new office , but Julio shakes his head. 

Instead, he shows her the robin eggshell little box he had been carrying around for far too long. 

Chapter Text

The long-awaited day had finally arrived. The church was decorated with delicate white flower arrangements, simple yet elegant.

Chris, radiant in her wedding dress, a gift from one of her future sisters-in-law, approached the altar with confident steps, the bouquet clutched in her trembling hands, emotional and fearing that by the end of the ceremony all her makeup would be ruined. She had never been a romantic, being a practical woman who believed in tangible things, but she had loved Julio for so long, and had never dared to hope that one day he would want to remarry.

Reaching the altar, Chris handed the bouquet to Lily, her maid of honor, and let go of her brother Joseph's arm. For her, he had decided to wear the white dress uniform of the navy, which he rarely took out of mothballs. Captain Joseph Carter looked impeccable in that attire, charming yet martial at the same time.

Joseph smiled at his sister, then turned to Julio. The two men stood at attention, in a gesture of mutual respect.

"Lieutenant Sanchez, I entrust you with my sister. Take care of her."

Julio, with a voice full of emotion, simply replied: "I will."

It was a promise that came from the depths of his heart, and one he intended to keep.

Chris lowered her gaze, overwhelmed by emotions. Julio, with infinite gentleness, lifted her veil and gave her a light kiss on the forehead, a gesture full of tenderness and affection.

He took her hand and leaned towards her, whispering in Spanish his gratitude for having waited for him, for giving him a second chance.

Deeply touched, Chris caressed his cheeks, her eyes bright with happiness.

The couple turned to Father Stan, ready to begin the ceremony. The organ stopped playing, and silence fell over the church.

Julio and Chris were finally ready to become husband and wife.

Chapter Text

Chris massaged her neck and looked out the window - the Strip was full of people ready to try their luck inside the casinos of Sin City. She turned to the wardrobe, sighing, and then glared at the suitcase that, resting on the bed, seemed to stare at her accusingly, as if reminding her that she needed to unpack and organize her things, especially a couple of items that were particularly delicate and could be ruined if left there for all four days of the conference - use of algorithms and mathematical models in the fight against money laundering and drug trafficking.

Interesting? Yes, but there were other places she would have preferred to be, and then the department had the brilliant idea of sending her as the money laundering expert, while as an authority on gangs and cartels there was...

"Nice of the boss to get us two connecting rooms..." Julio flung open the door that divided the two rooms, and leaned against the doorframe, looking, with a raised eyebrow, at Chris who was hanging a short dress with metallic fringes in the wardrobe. "What are you doing?"

"I'm putting away a couple of things, taking a shower, and then choosing what to wear for the conference welcome banquet." Chris set aside a simple and chaste black dress with soft lines that left everything to the imagination, and a gray blazer - she would pair it with black flats, and she'd be set.

"I prefer the other one, actually..." Chris squealed when Julio grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her into his room, throwing her on the bed; at first indignant, she looked at him accusingly, threateningly - but that expression transformed into a smile and laughter as soon as he put his hands under the simple white cotton blouse, and began to tickle her. "I'd prefer you naked in my bed, now."

There were few things Chris couldn't say no to, couldn't resist, and when Julio did this to her, she... she could do nothing but surrender. Clothes fell to the floor, hands explored, mouths appreciated and kissed, the lovers let themselves be taken by passion, losing themselves in that rhythm that had now become familiar to their very limbs, a dance they could now perform with their eyes closed, guided as much by instinct as by familiarity.

Once they reached the end of their lovemaking, Julio fell back, tired, on the bed, while Chris turned to look at the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand; seeing how late it was, she got up, lazily, without much will or conviction, putting on the blouse without underwear, which she balled up in her hand.

"Where are you going?" Julio grumbled at her back, slightly sulking, his voice petulant like that of a child - naked in bed, covered only by the sheet, the Latin detective seemed slightly disappointed.

"To my bed, in the room next door," She replied nonchalantly as she turned to look at him. "I thought the deal was that everyone went back to their own home, to their own bed when things were done."

"I'm not saying we have to get married, but we're friends, and sometimes I wouldn't mind if you remembered that." Julio clicked his tongue against his palate, and meanwhile, was slowly sliding the sheet towards the foot of the bed, letting his lover once again enjoy the view of his nudity. "And anyway, you know what they say, right? What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. So maybe, between one session and another, we could... I don't know, play another kind of game... also because, let me tell you, I'm starting to feel used, like a vibrator."

"You're the one who came up with all those rules, Sanchez," she replied, smiling, chuckling. Julio grabbed her by the wrist, made her fall on the bed and pulled her on top of him, made her sit astride his body. Chris bit her lip as he unbuttoned her blouse without taking it off, and ran her hands over Julio's chest: like many other boxers, his skin was smooth, although his was covered with several scars, some smaller, some larger, the story of his life.

"Have you ever wanted to see what it felt like to be... I don't know, someone else?" He asked her, looking her seriously in the eyes; his gaze was intense, and he had grabbed her right hand, bringing it over his heart, holding it as if it were a precious thing. "Wouldn't you like to let go while we're here?"

Chris leaned in to kiss him, hoping that simple touch could serve as an answer, but then she stopped, a breath away from her man's mouth; she curled her lips, her eyes shining, mischievous, as if she had just had an idea.

"Want to know what's going through my head?" Julio asked her, and Chris burst out laughing as she stood up and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Half an hour," She told him, as she walked towards the connecting door. "Dress well, mind you, I don't want you to make me look bad."

Julio huffed, falling back limply against the pillows, but then he got up, and decided to "obey" her, curious to see where this would lead; he took a shower, and then chose a white shirt, made of refined fabric, and a dark blue suit, with a more elegant cut than those he usually wore to work; the only touch of bold color was the pocket square, burgundy.

After adjusting the cufflinks, simple and classy, at his wrists, and putting on the steel chronograph, Julio lingered for a few more minutes while twisting the wedding ring he wore on his left ring finger; his own words, his intentions came back to mind...

Don't you want to try being someone else?

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and with a brusque movement, before he could change his mind, he slipped off the ring his late wife had put on his finger when they were just kids, and locked it in the nightstand drawer - for one night, just one, he wanted to just be Julio, he wanted to forget where he came from, that he was a policeman, a widower... He cleared his throat, while opening and closing his fists, feeling his left hand suddenly naked, and knocked on his partner's door; Chris opened it for him, with a mischievous and seductive air, like a temptress, with an almost feline movement in its fluidity. She had put on the gold dress - short, low-cut, sleeveless, that left nothing to the imagination and that the policeman ardently desired to see on the floor of his suite - pairing it with black gladiator sandals, and bold makeup, in shades of black. On her lips, she had her usual lipstick, dark red Chanel, bold, strong, seductive - a color that just looking at it made him want to kiss her.

"We're not going to the reception, are we?" He asked her, chuckling.

"You said what happens in Vegas stays here, right?" Chris rose slightly on her toes, and brushed his mouth with a finger; her eyes were shining, she was as excited as a child in a candy store. She grabbed Julio by the wrist, and dragged him into the glass elevator; leaning against the wall facing the outside of the tower, Chris looked at the strip, the hundreds of people who from that height seemed small, tiny cogs in the world, faceless - as they could be, even if only for a little while. Julio, hands in his pants pockets, slowly approached her; while Chris bit her lip, almost intimidated by his presence, he smiled at her, and rested his forehead against the woman's.

"Alright," he told her, his voice a mere whisper. "Let's do it."

She smiled radiantly at him, increasingly excited, and stretched up on her toes leaving him a kiss on his lips; the elevator walls opened into the hotel and casino lobby, and Chris linked her arm with Julio's, guiding their synchronized and harmonious steps.

"Am I wrong or do you know exactly where to go?" He asked her, when he realized she was guiding them towards the casino cashier - probably to change cash for chips. Chris burst out laughing - Julio definitely knew how to do his job. "And why do I fear that that wonderful little dress wasn't chosen for me?"

"Smart man," Chris gave him a very light elbow in the side, while putting a small pile of banknotes on the cashier's counter. She waited to receive her chips - and for Julio to change something too, a much lower sum than hers - then, after arranging the discs in the golden clutch, she took him by the hand.

"So, at the gaming table, be it Poker or, as I like, BlackJack, it works exactly like a magician's show: the half-naked assistant serves to distract attention from the trick, whatever it is. In my case, they look at my breasts, they stare at my legs, and they don't realize that I might be able to count cards."

Julio chuckled, rolling his eyes; he stopped in front of one of the slot machines, inserted a couple of chips, and pulled the lever - without even sitting down, because he imagined Chris had other plans.

As he expected, the figures that appeared on the screen were all different: he had lost.

"If you intend to spend your chips like this, know that you'll never get your money back." Chris warned him. "You can't cheat with slots. Unless you get into the system and modify the random assignment algorithms and..."

Hands in his pants pockets, Julio bent down slightly over his companion and gave her a light kiss on the mouth, smiling on her lips.

"You talk too much," he warned her, and Chris bit the inside of her cheek, with a slightly guilty and embarrassed air. Julio burst out laughing. He wrapped his arm around her hips, and resumed walking towards the blackjack table area, through the crowded spaces, filled to the improbable, that blinded with light and stunned with sounds and scents - everything was meticulously studied, down to the smallest detail, to keep players there as long as possible, to stun them and make them as docile as puppies.

Julio and Christine reached the table; the other players looked at them with an almost annoyed, irritated air, while the dealer gave them a complicit smile - that too studied, like every single thing in that environment - but also curious.

One of the players at the table, a middle-aged man in an elegant but disheveled suit, observed Chris with an interest that was all too obvious, he almost seemed to want to eat her with his eyes. Julio pressed his lips into a thin line, and perceiving that negative energy coming from him, Chris gently brushed his knuckles with her fingertips, to reassure and calm him.

She didn't need a knight in shining armor, she didn't want one - and she knew how to defend herself.

"Good evening," he said to them in a lascivious tone, without even removing the toothpick from his mouth, and nodded towards an empty chair at the table. "Does the gentleman want to play? A spot has just freed up."

Julio turned to Chris, his grip on the woman's hip strong and decisive, and smiled at her complicitly.

"Oh no," she replied, with a self-confident smile, brushing his clean-shaven jaw with a perfectly manicured finger, blood red. "Tonight I'm playing, and he's my lucky charm."

Chris took a seat at the table, and opened the golden clutch, taking out all the chips she had in one go, and placed them in front of her. Julio had remained standing, a hand on his partner's shoulder, and observed, attentive and curious, the scene, ready to intervene if something went wrong or if someone dared to raise even a finger towards her.

The dealer dealt the cards with dexterity; middle-aged man, well-groomed, immaculate uniform, he must have been doing that job for a long time - and, for some strange and hidden reason, he must have truly loved it, you could tell from the way he moved.

Christine looked at her cards: an 8 and a 7, for a total of 15. The dealer had a 6 showing. Feeling the tension and adrenaline rising at the table, Chris looked around, focusing on the game and detaching herself from anything else, Julio included, despite the hand on her bare shoulder burning like a burning ember.

"Hit," she said in a firm, focused voice.

The dealer gave her another card: a 6; now, she had a total of 21. A smile of triumph appeared on her face while the other players looked at her with surprise, amusement, or anger.

The dealer continued to deal cards to the other players - there were those who went bust, those who stayed under 21... when it came to the dealer's turn, the man turned his card - a 10.

The dealer drew another card: this time, it was a 5. 21: he had gone bust.

The hand was Chris's.

Julio smiled and leaned over her, leaving a kiss on her neck.

"I knew you would crush them," he told her proudly and amused, squeezing her bare shoulder. "Shall we play another hand?"

"I prefer to retire while I'm ahead," she replied, shaking her head slightly. She collected the chips she had won with elegance, slowly, carefully looking at the people who were sitting next to her at the table - especially the guy who had looked her up and down, who had eaten her with his eyes. The man had lost everything, and she tossed him a small value chip: better than nothing, she told herself, and after all, he had made her have fun.

Chris got up from the table, grabbed Julio by the hand and they retraced the path they had taken previously, but this time she was leading, and she moved on her heels with urgency, quickly. When they were in front of their rooms, Chris took the magnetic key from Julio's pants pocket and unlocked the door, with such urgency that her hands were shaking and she had to try more than once to unlock the door.

"You're in the mood for celebrations, I see." Julio burst out laughing, feeling a mix of tenderness and amusement for his partner's behavior.

Chris didn't dignify him with an answer; she just dragged him inside by the collar of his jacket, and made him sit on the burgundy velvet armchair. She leaned over him, running her hands through his short black hair, her lips a breath away from Julio's.

Taking him by surprise, Chris kissed him; meanwhile, her fingers, quick and breathless, began to unbutton his shirt, moving the fabric aside allowing her to enjoy the view of the smooth skin; she pressed her fingers on the scars left by the sniper who had hit him the year before, those of the operation with which they had reconstructed his scapula... sometimes, it was difficult not to go back to that roof, where she had been too, not to relive those long and interminable moments.

"Hey..." Julio whispered to her, smiling, trying to ease the tension, brushing her cheek with his palm, and Chris bit her lips while feeling something twisting inside her chest like a red-hot blade.

"Ya lyublyu tebya, Khulio... Ya tak lyublyu tebya, chto ne mogu ostanovit'sya...." She whispered to him, before pressing her lips into a thin line and fighting with all her might not to cry - not to tell him what had just come out of her mouth.

I love you. I love you so much that I can't stop.

"What..." He asked her, but Chris shook her head and composed herself, put on her usual mask of cold cynicism as if that moment between them had never happened - as if she had never confessed her feelings to him.

Lips and hands resumed descending, exploring, kissing and teasing, the woman left not a single inch of skin unexplored in her frenzy to consume and be consumed, to somehow extinguish that fire that burned in her chest - to stop thinking, just exist, even if only for a short time, minutes, moments, one night.

Kneeling on the ground, the dress crumpled, rolled up to her hips, she unbuttoned his elegant pants, and lowered his tight black boxers slightly, just enough to free her partner's erection. She inhaled deeply, eyes closed, filling her lungs with that smell of male, of man, bitter, almost wild.

She raised her eyes to Julio, and teased the tip of the man's sex with her tongue, digging her red-lacquered nails into her partner's hips; she left a kiss on the warm and moist skin of the penis, then slightly parted her lips and took him in her mouth, slowly, until she felt the rough fabric of his pants against her face. She inhaled through her nose, while playing with her tongue against the sensitive skin, and was about to start sucking, to squeeze all his pleasure out of him - literally - when he sank his hands into her hair, and grabbed her by the messy ponytail. Chris had expected Julio to want to guide her movements - to make things spicier, to be more authoritarian, almost violent - but instead he pulled her away from his sex and forced her to climb into his lap.

They immediately resumed kissing, their lips kept seeking each other almost as if they had been destined to die of thirst, and while she ran her fingers through his short hair, Julio lifted the microscopic dress even higher, and moved her panties aside. He began to tease her clitoris with his thumb, while his middle finger penetrated her and teased her, preparing her, making her wet. She was soaked - for him, and this drove Julio crazy.

As he sucked the skin of her neck, that of her shoulder, he lifted her slightly, and penetrated her. Chris moaned, and threw her head back, and began to move, swaying her hips following the rhythm of his partner's upward thrusts.

“Ya lyublyu tebya, Khulio...” She repeated to him; Julio lifted his eyes to her, and studied her curiously, the same way he would look at a suspect during a case, examine the evidence; the woman swallowed hard, and decided to lie.

“I want you,” she simply told him. Things were no longer so simple for her - if they ever had been. Julio smiled at her, although he saw, sensed that shadow in his lover's soul, but he decided to put the thought aside, to focus on the present-he wanted to just exist, and that was it. 

The thrusts became more violent, faster, the lunges deeper, and he threw his head back when he finally reached orgasm-a moment before she did.

Julio fell asleep there, in that chair, as she snuggled against his chest, not realizing what they had just done. 

Chapter Text

"Sharon?"

Andy felt his heart racing in his chest, so hard that he feared it might burst. As he continued calling his fiancée's name on the phone, hoping she would speak, say just one word, he felt like he was dying.

He told himself it couldn't end like this, not now that they had decided to spend the rest of their lives together.

From his position, he stared at the building in front of him, at the floor where Major Crimes was located. The air after the bomb explosion had not yet cleared, the building was still partially enveloped in a thick blanket of whitish dust.

"Sharon?" He called again.

Time slowed down, seeming to stretch to infinity.

"I'm here," she replied between coughs. Her voice was hoarse and unclear, but it didn't matter: she was alive. That was enough for him.

Time began to flow again as, with a sigh of relief, Andy leaned against the wall behind him.

Chapter Text

She had arrived in Manham, a small town in the middle of nowhere in central United States, on a rainy March afternoon three years ago; the train station was little more than a small platform in the middle of nowhere, and she had found a landscape soaked by rain that seemed as empty of human life as it was of contours. She had gotten off the train alone, clutching the necklace to which she had tied her wedding ring, and had stifled a groan, promising herself that this would be the last time she would think of Andrew.

She already knew it could never be so.

She had walked quickly, accompanied by the regular sound of thin stiletto heels on the porphyry sidewalk, dragging behind her the small trolley that contained the bare essentials, and nothing that had belonged to her old life. While looking for a bar to drink something warm, she had covered her head with a newspaper, but her brown hair had still curled from the humidity, and when she finally found a place that could offer her refreshment, she had shaken her head, almost like a wet puppy. She had caught her own blurred reflection in the window of the place, and had felt faint - she couldn't even recognize herself, it seemed like centuries had passed since she had been so young, and yet...

And yet, the last time that same face had smiled at her in the mirror was only thirty years ago, when she had made the mistake of falling in love with that young future lawyer who had taken a sabbatical year to visit Ireland and rediscover his roots.

Instead, he had found her - and there hadn't been a single day of their marriage when they hadn't told each other lies.

She had spent three years in that lazy little town, where everyone knew everything about everyone, but she had managed to find kind souls who hadn't pressed her with inappropriate questions. Every day, her reflection had become more familiar to her, but she had never fully regained her smile, because she couldn't help but see other faces next to hers in the mirror - those of her children, Andrew's, those of her friends. As she had prophesied three years ago, she had not been able to keep her promise: those she had loved in her old life had never abandoned her.

The doorbell rang, once, twice, three times, and she dried her hands. She quickly put on her pink silk robe and, barefoot, went to open the door, immediately regretting it as soon as she startled at the sight: Andrew was there, in front of her - not dark-faced, but surprised, and, at the same time, moved; the last three years had not been kind to him, yet she still considered him the most charming man she had ever had the fortune to meet on her path.

"Hey, commander, how's it going?" He joked, trying to lighten the situation.

She was tempted to close the door, slamming it in his face, to run away again and again, but she didn't have the strength, and decided at that moment that she could never do such harm to him or to herself - and so, with tears in her eyes, crying those tears that she had denied herself from the moment she realized she loved him, and that their love would be destined to be unhappy, she threw herself into his arms. Andrew closed his eyes, buried his nose in her brown hair and smiled, holding her close with all the strength that his fragile body, now battered by events and age, allowed him.

It was her. The face might not belong to the woman he thought he had buried, but that scent, that aura, were hers alone, unmistakable.

That woman was his Sharon, identical to the first time their eyes had met, when she had been just a recruit and he was taking his first steps as a detective.

Grasping her by the shoulders, Flynn put a slight distance between them, and looked at her carefully, shaking his head slightly, still incredulous despite having in his jacket pocket that newspaper page where a photo of the improvised presidential rally when the train on which the President was traveling had broken down dominated. He had immediately noticed her in the crowd - and his heart had skipped a beat, recognizing her despite everything.

"You're..." The man struggled. "You're so young, Sharon..."

"Seana," she corrected him, blushing slightly. "My real name is Seana. That's what I go by here. Seana MacFin."

"One hundred percent Irish, huh?" Flynn burst out laughing, but soon the laughter turned into a strong cough that seemed to have no end. The woman grabbed him by the elbow, dragging him into her apartment, and made him sit at the kitchen table; she gave him a glass of cold water, leaving a couple of aspirin available in case it was his heart playing tricks on him, something she couldn't rule out given what the man had just experienced - holding in his arms a younger version of his wife, deceased for over three years, was not an easy thing to accept, especially for people like Andrew Flynn, who had made rationality their creed - their flag.

"Are you alright?" She asked him, uncertain. Flynn nodded, and swallowed another sip of water, then threw his head back.

"I had immediately understood it was you, and yet..." He told her, seeking her hand on the table. Although he was happy, despite there being no shadow of resentment or judgment on his still virile features, it was clear that a part of Andrew was still confused, and that many, perhaps too many questions were stirring in his soul. "How... I mean, you... I saw you die, Sharon, Julio gave you CPR and..."

The man squeezed his eyes shut, gripped by the memory of one of the darkest days of his existence - what, after almost twenty-five years, had almost brought him back to the bottle.

"MacFin... it's the abbreviation of Mac Finvarra. Like the sovereign of the Tuatha de Danann, who once driven underground by the Celts became the Sidhe people - the fairy people." The woman merely shrugged, and gave that half-smile, of someone who knew a lot, that was unique and inimitable, unmistakably hers.

"Let me get this straight..." Andrew narrowed his eyes. "So you're... the princess of the fairies?"

"Well, more or less. My father is King Finvarra, but my mother was the daughter of an innkeeper. My grandfather was an excellent chess player, and he went around telling everyone that not even King Finvarra would ever be able to beat him. When my father heard about it, he rode to the inn and challenged grandpa, who was so sure of his own skill that he promised the fairy king he would give him his daughter as a lover if he won."

"In how many moves was grandpa tricked?"

"Five," she replied, and they both burst out laughing. "Finvarra is the king of the underworld, as well as that of the fairy people, and for this reason he gave me a longer life than other humans - and he made me resurrect once I crossed the gates of his realm."

On the woman's face, a melancholic shadow appeared for a moment, and the former policewoman looked away, not wanting to allow Andrew to see this weakness of hers.

"Honey?" He asked her, brushing her face with his fingertips.

"My father gave me a second chance, but when I woke up on that train.... I've never felt so alone, without you, or the kids." She burst into tears, hiding her face in the shoulder of the man she had called husband for only a few days - her heart was annihilated by the awareness that the days gone by could never return, and that she would never be able to see her boys, her friends, all those she loved again.

Now, she had Andrew in her arms: but for how long? She could never ask him to follow her, and perhaps she would never allow him to make that choice, distancing him forever from his loved ones.

He took her face in his hands, lifting it towards the light filtering through the delicate lace curtains, and they smiled at each other. Gently, he leaned down to her, leaving a quick kiss on her lips, and the woman held tight in her man's embrace.

For now, she had him; for now, it would be enough.

Chapter Text

That alley looked like it came straight out of a splatter film, or maybe a B-grade police drama from a few decades ago. Dark and dirty, it was littered with garbage dumpsters overflowing with infernal odors. Chris recalled one of her first homicide cases, a porn star cut to pieces whose body had been scattered around the city and found only after several days. Heat and humidity had accelerated the decomposition, causing it to rot into nothing.

There had been very little to give back to the family.

Chris shook her head, trying to push away that revolting and disturbing thought. She squinted her eyes and began to gasp for air while passing a water bottle to Morales, who was busy vomiting his soul out behind one of the aforementioned bins, which the medical examiner had dared to touch for support.

The woman had a gag reflex: she dared not think about what was in that damned alley, probably cholera, smallpox, or some other mutagenic virus.

She would probably have to burn what she was wearing, except for the shoes, even though she could already see the dry cleaning receipt. But no way in hell was she throwing away leopard-print Louboutins worth nearly seven hundred dollars.

"Next time," Chris hissed through gritted teeth while handing a tissue to Morales. "We'll spend Valentine's Day the way I say."

"Yeah, right. Drinking wine and eating ice cream while you watch Netflix to get Sanchez out of your head." Morales wiped his mouth and coughed a couple of times. He was slightly drunk, which made him more honest than usual. "Great plan indeed."

"Yes, and now the plan is to take a bath in hand sanitizer because you dragged me into the mouth of hell." Chris grunted. She was almost tempted to throw away the shoes, just to buy another pair. And make Morales pay for them. In full.

The door of the club opened; one of the dancers, dressed as a pornographic version of a French sailor, came out to smoke a cigarette. He noticed Morales, smiled at him conspiratorially, winked, and the medical examiner immediately cheered up.

Chris sighed: her friend was definitely hopeless.

Chapter Text

Little squabbles, jokes, laughter: painting Julio's house in preparation for living together had been exactly that.
Tiring, but pleasant.
The furniture was piled up, some in the center of the rooms, others outside, covered with thick plastic sheets waiting to be put in storage, given away or sold (the beauty of uniting two lives at a certain age, and with both having marriages behind them: you have double of everything).
It was past nine in the evening, their dinner had been sandwiches and coffee, and they were sitting on the floor, stained, dirty and sweaty, contemplating the work done.
Julio raised an eyebrow, looking at his partner suggestively. Chris burst out laughing, hiding her face in his shoulder - with jeans two sizes too big, a gray tank top that had seen better days, and one of Julio's denim shirts, she was anything but an erotic vision screaming "sex" or "take me here and now".
"You know, I have some plain white lycra underwear," Chris joked, giving him a kiss on the chin. His beard was growing back, and that sensation, that slight tickle, she simply adored it. "And I think I have some gray cotton panties."
"What a shame. And here I was, in love with your sexy lingerie sets... what will I do?" Julio burst out laughing. He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and kissed her.
For better or worse, he loved her, always. No matter what she wore.

Chapter Text

The sun is high in Los Angeles county, and it’s quite hot even if summer has just begun. For once, they leave the jackets in the car - screw formality, it’s simply too hot, and the fabric of their shirts is sticking to the skin because of the sweat. 

Chris takes off her sunglasses and pants as she tries to freshen herself up with a tissue. It doesn’t work, so she just pants and arranges her hair in a messy knot on top of her head. 

As she said: screw formality. Even if they are in the middle of a meadow because they have to interview a person of interest in a case. 

She moans a little and gently sneezes a few times once they start walking through the yellow flowers, and Julio snickers. 

“Just for the record, you’ve got armprint stains.” She shrugs with nonchalance, clicking her tongue, and Julio simply rolls his eyes behind the dark black lenses of his Rayban Aviator sunglasses. 

They are in the middle of the meadow when they suddenly stop. They look around for any trace of the man they are there for, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. 

Chris lifts her sunglasses on top of her head, and tucks a strand of hair behind her pierced ear. The sun hits her right there, enlightening the auburn color of her hair, making them look even redder than what they actually are. Even her skin is glistening, and yet, it seems like she is simply…glowing. 

For a moment, watching her surrounded by the flowers, his nose is filled with just her scent - vanilla, chamomile and something else he has never been able to point out but it’s just Chris. 

Julio smiles at her. His wedding band is heavy and burning on his ring finger, and yet it feels like his heart is slowly melting, coming back to life. 

Ready to love once again. 

Chapter Text

Julio knelt before Maria’s grave, the cool breeze of the evening ruffling his suit jacket. He sighed and looked at the sky, filled with dark clouds, and thought about the future. 

In twenty four hours, he would be married again: the thought filled his heart with both warmth and guilt, all at once.

He traced the letters of her name on the headstone, the ache in his heart as familiar as the day she died. It had been years, and yet the pain was still there- some days stronger, other gentler. 

“I miss you every day, but I think you'd like her, Maria. She’s kind. A hardhead, too. She makes me laugh the way you used to.” Julio chuckled. He sat down on the patch of grass, and ran a hand through his military short black hair. “I make her laugh, too. Which is good. Because I think she doesn’t do that often enough.”

Julio paused, and sighed heavily. Often in the past he had been crying when coming to his late wife’s grave, but not today. Now he was a changed man, and he could see the past more clearly, and mostly, he knew he had hope.

“You’ll always be my first love, and I’ll always carry you in my heart.” Julio smiled, tired but happy. “But I like to think you'd want me to be happy. I hope you'll understand.”

For a moment, he swore he could feel her presence, a gentle comfort that wrapped around him like a warm embrace.

With a final glance, Julio stood, touched her name one last time, and walked away, a weight lifted from his chest.

Chapter Text

Los Angeles was plunged into darkness, illuminated only by the artificial lights of street lamps and neon signs. From the fourteenth floor of Parker Center, Chris looked out the window, sighing, wondering what was the point of continuing to do her job when the world knew only pain, revenge and hatred. 

She looked around, surrounded by colleagues who were animatedly discussing some about the case, others about private affairs, and then she laid her gaze on the face on the other side of her desk. 

Julio: her partner, the man she loved, who would soon make her his wife. He smiled at her, but there was something strange in his expression, something distorted and enigmatic. 

Chris did not have time to ask him what was happening, because the lights began to pulsate and soon went off, leaving the office plunged into darkness and total silence. Chris leapt to her feet, her chair falling to the floor, and looked around, trying to catch a glimmer of something - anything. 

She called her colleagues, one by one, but it was no use: she was surrounded by silence, darkness, nothingness, emptiness.

She was completely alone.

And then, she heard it, echoing in the distance, her name, spoken in Julio's voice. He seemed to be laughing, to be teasing her. 

Chris looked around, but in the darkness she had no idea where to go, how to move, she felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, and the more she ran in search of the man she loved, the more tired she became, the weaker she felt. The muscles in her legs gave way, and as fear ate at her, Chris heard Julio call her name, right behind her. The shadow of a smile appeared on her face, and she turned around, certain that she had finally found a way out of wherever she was. 

Waiting for her, however, was not Julio, but Noah, her first, late husband. The man she had loved in her youth stood out in the darkness as if he possessed a distorted aura; there was nothing left of the man she had loved and known many years before. Noah Newman was a ghostly figure, looking like something out of a horror fairy tale. His skin was gray and unhealthy, torn by decomposition in several places, where yellowed bones could be discerned. The sockets of his eyes were empty and lifeless, devoid of any spark of humanity, but they continued to stare at Chris with an intensity that made the blood run cold in her veins. His red, curly hair, once thick and shiny, was now matted and scattered, soaked in slime and decay. His face, which had once been a reflection of his love for Chris, was distorted by an expression of anger and contempt, as if every thought directed at her had been tainted by death itself. His lips were thin and cracked, and every movement of his body seemed slow and twisted, as if he had been a puppet maneuvered by dark forces.

“Did you think you could forget me, that you could replace me with my best friend?” Noah asked her, tilting his head on his shoulder. His words were like a poison that corroded her soul, and no matter how hard Chris tried not to listen, she could not. “You're just a thief, no one will ever really trust you. You're just a reject, good for pass time waiting for something better. Able to do the dirty work while others take your credit.”

He burst out laughing, and soon another laugh joined his - a feminine, melodious voice, a musical laugh. 

Chris looked up, and saw Maria, Julio's first wife, looming over her. The woman slapped her, and then again and again, She threw Chris to the ground, and soon the two dead beings began to kick and punch her. Maria straddled her, crushing her lungs with such force that Chris felt her breath catch. Maria put her hands around her throat, squeezing as hard as she could, while the policewoman could not move a single muscle, as if she had been made of lead. 

“Julio is mine,” Maria told her, digging her red-lacquered nails into Chris’ neck until she bled. “He will never love you. You're just a pathetic wench who picks up other people's scraps, mistaking pity for love. You're only good for warming his bed, but sooner or later he'll tire of you and find someone better.”

Chris heard a laugh; she opened his eyes wide, and next to Maria was, sitting on the floor, Julio, kissing his wife's neck, almost in a trance, never taking his eyes off the policewoman, staring at her with mockery and defiance, as if he wanted to emphasize how right his wife had been.

Noah's laughter joined those of Maria and Julio, and as the woman choked her, the late policeman lowered a machete on his wife's skull.

Chris suddenly woke up in her bed, her heart beating wildly in her chest and her body drenched in sweat.

Chapter Text

“Ehy, you are… Kristy Carter, right?” As she was serving a white Russian behind the counter of the bar, Chris lifted a quizzical eyebrow at the newcomer. He was a bit older than her, and had a slight Mexican accent. She stared in his dark brown eyes for a second, wondering why he looked so familiar, and then realization hit her. 

“Well, well, well, looked who the cat dragged inside. Let me guess, Julio, Noah’s work partner, right?” Julio smirked and theatrically opened his arms wide as he was making some kind of curtsy at the twenty-something young woman. Chris lifted her index finger to tell him she’d be there with him soon, then she finished serving a few drinks and prepared a coffee. She served it to Julio even if he hadn't asked for one- he was a cop after all, it was quite easy to guess his tastes - alongside a slice of cheesecake on the go big enough for two.

“Thanks,” He sipped the hot beverage with closed eyes. “So, Kristy, you are Noah’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“It’s Christine- or Chris. And don’t act like you didn’t know it.” Julio chuckled. The girl was smart (and funny), she had seen his cards even if he had kept them close to his heart. He wanted to see how she would act when push came to shove, and she had passed the test with flying colors. His partner was the kind of man who fell in love at least once a month, but this one seemed to be ready to stick around. 

And, if Julio had to be honest, she seemed good for his friend.

“So, Julio. Did you come here to check on your competitor?” She asked. It was her time to chuckle, as she finished drying a tall glass. Julio started coughing as he was drinking his coffee, the liquid going sideways. 

Smart, funny, and a health hazard. Christine was definitely a dangerous combination.

“I don’t like Noah!” Julio protested, blushing. He lifted his hand, and showed her the ring. “See? I am married to a woman .”

“But you are Noah’s work wife,” she shrugged. “And I am his significant other. So, yes, I am your competitor, in a manner of speaking. And I knew you were married. When Noah asked me out, you were here with him with a pretty lady. I guess she is your wife?”

“You know, you are a weird one…” Julio lifted a quizzical eyebrow, and smirking he finished his coffee. His eyes fell on the book Christine was busy reading, a text he remembered all too well from his time at the academy. “So, you’ll be a fellow cop. You’re going to be a bureaucrat or what?”

“Or what. I like the idea of having a purpose.” Chris leaned against the counter, and grimaced a little. “Although my first choice was the navy. But, I once kissed a girl and liked it, so I’m a big no-no for them.”

Julio laughed. Yes, he liked her very much. She would have been good for Noah. 

He was pretty sure they would have become friends, eventually. 

Chapter Text

Once, a friend told her he chose to live in Los Angeles because no matter the temperature at noon: evenings, nights, and mornings are always cool, twelve months a year.

He was right.

Christine runs against the ocean breeze, gritting her teeth, chasing exhaustion, muscle pain, with sweat flowing down her skin, throughout her body, soaking through the technical fabric of her shirt and pants.

Reaching the pier, she slows down until stopping. Hands on hips, she takes a deep breath and looks up at the sky, watching the sun just now rising on the horizon. 

She practically fled her house at dawn, trying to be as silent as possible, as if she were a thief.

All because there's a naked man in her bed.

It's not the fact that there's a naked man in her bed creating this sense of restlessness, nor is it the fact that this naked man in her bed is Julio Sanchez - her partner, her friend, Noah's best man - that's giving her difficulty.

She's overthinking how he behaved with her, even though they were both clear that neither was looking for a romantic relationship - Julio still loves Maria, she's become too cynical to believe in love anymore -something clicked that made her uncomfortable. Or maybe it's not discomfort, but Chris doesn't even know what to call this thing.

After Dimitri, she hasn't had any real relationships; sex lost all semblance of pleasure, of fun, became a mechanical act, almost more focused on giving pleasure to the person she's with rather than herself, a moment where she completely detaches from both her body and mind, and none of the people she's been with ever seemed too concerned about her physical reactions.

Not him.

Julio took care of her, was a passionate but above all attentive lover who put her first and for the first time in years Christine felt pleasure and even laughed while in bed with a man: she didn't even think that was still possible.

Her Blackberry vibrates in the armband she's wearing, and the young woman checks it, imagining it might be work - a case would really be what she needs right now, to avoid focusing too much on the naked man in her bed who must be wondering where the hell the homeowner went to do the walk of shame.

A text message; Julio asks where she went and why she left him alone - his bed is quite cold without her. Chris doesn't respond, puts the phone back in the band and runs, runs and runs more, until her lungs burn: maybe she doesn't know what to tell him, maybe she doesn't even know what she feels, except that it seems winter has finally ended.

Chapter Text

Julio woke up with the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixed with his girlfriend’s (vanilla and honey) in his nose and the warm morning sun of the Los Angeles autumn coming through the blinds and hitting him full in the face. 

Still shirtless, he stretched, his hands stroking the cold iron of the bed's headboard. His mouth was still pasty, he could not open his eyes fully, but there was that extra sense-the fifth and a half sense, the sixth, seventh or whatever it was-that told him she was there, beside him. 

“Buenos Días, mi querida.” Julio turned on his side toward her, remaining lying down. He smiled at her, a lazy, boyish smile that softened Chris’ heart.

“I brought you coffee.” She ran a hand through his hair and leaned over him, leaving a kiss on his forehead. She returned to sit beside Julio on the mattress and continued to caress his scalp. He closed his eyes again, and made a guttural sound that closely resembled a cat's purr. 

Chris shook her head, sighing dreamily. Sometimes she found it hard to believe that the same man who knocked down doors with a kick, intimidated suspects with a look, and knocked out seven-foot-tall men in the ring was the one who helped elderly women with their groceries, read stories to his son at night, and comforted her in hard times.

“Julio...” Chris put the cup down on the nightstand and lay down next to him. She snuggled against him, her head tucked in the crook of his neck. “Do you want me to call Daniels and tell her you're not going to work? I can come up with something. I'm pretty good at telling lies.”

Julio rolled a strand of Chris's reddish hair around a finger and took to playing with it, relaxing. He bent his head forward slightly and left a kiss on her forehead. 

“I'm fine,” he reassured her. “Really.”

Chris did not answer him; she merely sighed. She was looking at Julio's chest muscles, but her gaze was lost in the void and she could hardly believe any of what he just said.

It was October 28, after all. The day his daughter was supposed to be born. And Julio had never been in a particularly good mood during that day. 

Julio sat on the bed, taking his woman with him, and got his coffee. He did not drink it, simply enjoyed the warmth of the cup and looked at the light brownish foam. 

“It was the night between October 27 and 28. We were on a stakeout. I was on a bench pretending to be a bum, you were jogging. At one point you brought me a coffee, because the air was crisp that night, but I was pissed and didn't take it. The next day I was cold with a stone-cracking migraine, had a little fever, and you came over and brought me aspirin, soup, and hot tea.”

“You told me you didn't want a girlfriend or even a nurse unless she was dressed like in porn.” Chris nodded, looking at him allusively as she ran her right index finger over Julio's muscles. “If you want I'll call work, say we got the flu, and then I'll put on one of your white shirts and we'll pretend it's scrubs,” she said.

“Now who wants to traumatize our children for life?” Julio sipped his coffee; it was now lukewarm, but it wasn't that bad. He had drunk far worse concoctions at work. 

“Are you sure you're feeling it?” She asked him for the umpteenth time. 

Somewhere in the house, a switch clicked, and bare feet took to walking down the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom. Julio closed his eyes, and thought back to Elena, the unborn child, but especially to the two children who made that house full and alive, Mark and Lily. 

“Yes,” he nodded with conviction. “Yes, I feel it.”

It was the truth.

Chapter Text

The car speeds in front of the building, stopping with a braking motion that leaves black marks on the asphalt. On the roof, the police flashing light still on fills the air with sound and light emphasizing the presence of police officers on board. 
The church bell strikes the hour, eleven o'clock. 
Noah exits the passenger side of the black metallic car in a rush, not even closing the door behind him. Black sunglasses lowered on his face, he has a yellow to bluish complexion and deep, dark circles under his eyes that the frames fail to conceal. His shirt is buttoned askew, and as he runs toward the entrance of the building he hastily puts on his jacket. 
He doesn't even know where the tie is. At home? Maybe. Or maybe just in the car. Be that as it may, he has no time to think about such trivialities: he's a good half hour late to his own wedding, and all because he let Julio talk him into taking one last single trip to Las Vegas to play poker and watch some hot shows-which Julio no, he doesn't watch those, because he's married and marriage is a sacred bond, I respect my wife too much and blah blah blah. 
He, meanwhile, is seeing before his eyes a whole series of possible futures in premortem flashback style, ranging from his girlfriend walking away indignantly to the most baleful scenario: Captain Matthew Eugene Sheppard beating the crap out of him in the L.A. Cathedral square. 
Why yes, Christine's best friend/surrogate brother would be capable of doing that, indeed. Without a shadow of a doubt.
“You're late.” Almost as if he had conjured it up in his mind, Noah stops motionless in front of that six-foot-plus all-muscle mountain with shoulders as wide as a closet. Despite the visor of the white uniform cap, Noah manages to peer into those deep dark eyes seeing very unpleasant things in them. He swallows blankly and lowers his gaze, noticing that Sheppard has even brought his uniform saber with him. 
If he is lucky, he will let him choose what death to die of. 
“Move,” Sheppard growls at him as if he were a mastiff. “Before the kid comes to her senses and realizes she's doing the biggest screw-up of her life standing around after a rookie like you.”
Noah doesn't let that be repeated twice; he runs into the church and then, once he crosses the threshold, pulls himself together. He walks swiftly but nonchalantly to the altar, adjusting his jacket and shirt as if nothing was wrong, as if people were not muttering and looking at him grimly. 
“You know, my little Mexican friend, I have the distinct impression that this whole thing is your fault.” Matt puts his hands in the pocket of his pants, and approaches Julio. face to face, the twenty-five centimeter difference in height is definitely evident, yet the cop is not intimidated. 
“I'm not your friend,” Julio replies to him, not at all fazed by his opponent, because in the ring, as a boxer, he has faced people bigger than him and knocked them out. “And I'm a third-generation American. And now, if you don't mind, the groom is waiting for the rings.”
Matt grabs him by the shoulder as Julio tries to enter the church, stops him, pulls him back, and without warning punches him in the nose. His thin metal-rimmed black glasses fall to the ground, and Julio brings his hand to the sore spot, hoping it's neither broken nor bloody, because otherwise he would have to face the wrath of too many people-his wife, Noah, Chris, the wedding planner, etc.
“Well, you can go now.” Sheppard shrugs his shoulders and smiles contentedly. Julio watches him re-enter the church, with the distinct feeling that he, that man, would hate him as long as he lived. 

Chapter Text

He made the rules, the first time they ended up in bed together. It is not “just” sex, because they are friends, because they are partners, because they share the need to forget even for a moment the horrors that come their way. 
It is not just sex, yet it cannot be anything more. 
He will love perhaps forever Maria and their unborn child.
Chris has already lost a husband in the line of duty, she will never get attached to a cop again, and it would not even be fair to ask her to do so.
Yet the moment he sees Ramos flirting with her, gazing at her prosperous breasts that not even the chastened blouses she wears to the office can completely conceal, Julio doesn't understand anything anymore. He sees only red. He sees only black.
He follows her into the warehouse under the pretense of helping her with the overhead boxes, grabs her by the wrist, kisses her savagely, marks the skin of her neck leaving a hickey that he hopes ramos will see, making him realize who is in charge, and that he must stop touching and looking at what does not belong to him. 
Nothing could be more wrong, but as he comes inside her, Julio feels as free as ever.
It lasts only a moment, and then, he goes back to hating himself, and to hating Chris for having such an effect on him.

Chapter Text

“No, absolutely not.” Julio gritted his teeth, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at Chief Johnson across the desk. “This plan is completely idiotic, dangerous, and if you think this is a good idea, then, Chief, maybe I had the wrong opinion of you.”

Brenda raised an eyebrow, sitting at her desk. She was about to speak up and defend both herself and the plan, however, when Detective Carter beat her to it.

“Sanchez, I'm a detective, and I certainly don't need your permission to do my job,” Chris replied, piqued. She was almost gnashing her teeth, defending, proudly, both her position and her abilities. “I know what I'm doing.”

“Sure you do. You want to be bait for a killer who has already killed what, five prostitutes?” Julio turned toward her. He kept one hand on Johnson's desk, the other at his side. he looked at Chris as if there were only the two of them in the room, and not their entire team.

“I am a native Russian speaker like the victims. Similar physicality.” Chris reminded him. “And I'm trained to defend myself. I'm the perfect bait because I know what to expect, and I know how to act accordingly.”

Julio ran a hand over his face, frustrated. The woman had been hardheaded when she had been just the girlfriend of his former partner, Naoh Newman, and now that she had gotten older and moved up the ladder, things had only gotten worse. When Christine Carter put her mind to something, there was no changing her mind. 

Little did she care if putting herself in that situation wouldn’t put him at ease, since he was her partner now and also her friend.

“Keep a transmitter on you, or something.” Julio sighed, before turning back to his superior. “And I would appreciate having someone around to monitor it in case something goes wrong.”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Chris interrupted him, in a voice that was still  exasperated, but slightly softened. Ever since Noah had passed away, Julio had been there for her. He had always been very protective of her, but since she had switched to homicide and become his partner, that feeling had grown even stronger. “I'm not the reckless one.”

“Are you perhaps referring to me, Carter?” Julio asked her, raising an eyebrow, but she merely shrugged. Julio sighed, and shook his head. “I will stay in the car, and I will intervene only if strictly necessary, I promise. But if that bastard gets his hands on you...”

“He'll probably be on the ground moaning before you can even get there.” Chris retorted, not without a certain note of malice. “I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, but quite happy to have someone to watch my back. Just in case.”

Julio sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. The woman was infuriating and exhausting him, since she was his partner doing his job had become much more tiring-but also much more fun and interesting.

But if anyone had hurt her, he would have taken care of them.

Chapter Text

There has never been anything truly feminine about Chris Carter- not at first sight, at least. She is simplicity made flesh, with jeans and t-shirts and running shoes and simple hairdos and a work in a field predominantly male. 

Lily’s just like her, Julio realizes one Sunday morning when they are together to watch a baseball match of the Saint Joseph team - Lily’s playing, and just like her sister, it’s in a predominantly male field. 

A young boy throws the ball, and Lily intercepts it. She hits the ball, lets her bat fall on the ground with a heavy sound and starts running with all of her might. 

She hits base after base, sliding in the last one when the ball, finally, leaves the field. 

She is messy, dirty, her uniform is stained but she doesn’t care. She smiles as her teammates celebrate her, and Chris stands, cheering for her little sister. 

The sun hits her, making her hair shine red instead of brown, and Julio remembers a time, many years before, in a sunflower field, when he realized he was in love with her. 

He plays with his wedding band and smiles, a little sad, but sure of two things. 

He still loves her., And one day, he’ll be able to take out his wedding band. 

Chapter Text

The holidays had always been stressful for Chris, but at one time they had been because crime always increased during the holidays. Now that she and Julio were dating officially, however, the holiday season had become a source of stress because of the amount of people she would have around the house. 

She would have to win over an entire family of practicing Catholics who were capable of going to Mass two or three times a week. 

A real nightmare. 

“Ehy, look what I brought you...” While she was intent on trying to prepare a meal that would break the hearts of her sisters-in-law, Julio left a gentle kiss on her companion's neck. 

She smelled of vanilla and chamomile, two simple, almost boyish aromas, but on her they drove him wild with desire. 

“Not now.” The woman retorted dryly, without much explanation. 

Julio huffed and rolled his eyes, and lowered in front of Chris's face the one he had held raised in the air until moments before. 

“Mistletoe?” Chris huffed, “Really? Aren't you a little too old for this?”

“What can I say, any excuse to coo at my girlfriend,” Julio shrugged, smiling wickedly. “Besides, I'm not that old. Forty is the new thirty, don't you know?”

Chris burst out laughing. She stood up on her toes, and left a kiss on Julio's lips, but he grabbed her by the hips, turned her around, and began kissing her in earnest.

On the stove, dinner went up in smoke.

Chapter Text

They’ve been back together for a while, but it’s the first time Chris sleeps over at Julio’s new place- the one he moved in after adopting Mark. 

Around two o’clock, she wakes up, only to find Julio’s side of the bed empty. Wearing underwear and one of his shirts, barefeet, she tiptoes around rooms and corridors she doesn’t know yet, only to find him sitting on the couch, in the living room. 

Back when they were younger, Julio had been the classic man - watching sports and movies on his huge TV even in the middle of the night. Right now, though, he is lost in thought, surely taken in by the book he seems to be enjoying. 

She bits on a fingernail, and in silence, with an amused smirk on her lips, she enjoys the scene in utter silence. 

“Just so you know, I can hear you thinking,” Julio grins as he closes the book, lifts his glasses on the top of his head and turns to watch his girlfriend. “What?” 

“I didn’t know you needed glasses to read,” she tells him as she joins him on the couch, and lowers them on the top of his nose, grinning a little. Julio closes his eyes, and inhales deeply, letting her scent- chamomile, vanilla and something else that’s utterly Chris - envelope him from within.

“I’ve been using them for a couple of years,” Julio admits with a shrug, still lost in her scent.

In silence, she simply looks at him, skimming with the tip of a finger the metallic frame, and suddenly she realizes she has known Julio for years- almost twenty - even if sometimes it feels like it was yesterday. 

Time has passed - and they’ve wasted so much of it because of fears and because they were just too stubborn to admit they needed each other in their lives.

Chapter Text

Julio jolted awake and turned toward the side of the bed where his wife slept, his heart pounding. He took a deep breath and tried to banish from his mind the images that occupied it, the remnants of the nightmare that had clawed at his mind and did not seem intent on letting go. 

Chris dead, killed by Dimitri, the criminal laughing as he carelessly kicked the corpse of the woman who had ruined his life. 

Julio rested a hand on the mattress, still warm, and shook his head. 

It was just a nightmare; it hadn't really happened. He, Fritz and Brenda had managed to save Chris before Dimitri hurt her. 

He controlled his breathing as his therapist had taught him years before, to regain full possession of himself.

Breathe in for three. Hold for three. Exhale for three. 

He repeated the rigmarole several times, until of the post-nightmare panic attack only sweat and dark circles under his eyes were left as evidence. 

Alone in his boxers, barefoot, Julio got out of bed. As soon as he walked through the door of their room, he glimpsed a light in the kitchen, and a small smile appeared on his face. 

That was where his wife had gone. 

He reached her and stood in silence looking at her, dressed only in her own shirt and red lace panties, she was drinking water. 

No great mystery, no danger. 

He could finally breathe a sigh of relief. 

He reached out and embraced her, holding her with as much strength as he could muster. He sank his nose into her vanilla-scented hair, the same scent he had smelled so many years before when they had first climbed into a police car together, having just become partners at major crimes. 

There she was, in his arms, alive, safe and sound, and that scent would never cease to remind him.

Chapter Text

“I remember the day I first fell in love with you.”

Julio fiddled with a lock of Chris's hair. Sitting in the wicker chair on the patio of their home, the policeman, now a Captain, breathed in deep breaths of that wonderful vanilla and chamomile scent that had been part of his daily routine for years, the best calming agent he had ever experienced. Chris's hair still had that coppery sheen that he adored, though by now a few strands of silver had peeped through, but he didn’t care-even his black was fading, giving way more and more each day to gray. 

And his wife still loved running her fingers through his hair.

“Really?” Chris asked him, snuggling against Julio's chest as they watched the sun set. Inside, Lily and Mark were finishing revising for the next day. She was honestly curious: Julio had once confessed to her that when she had left Major Crimes he had already been in love with her, but he had never mentioned a specific moment, and Chris had always believed it had been gradual, certainly not a sudden revelation. 

“We were in a field of sunflowers. We were looking for the owner.” Julio smiled, and Chris turned back to him, rubbing her nose against Julio's neck. “It was hot as hell, and you pointed out that I had spotty armpits.”

Chris blushed, slightly embarrassed. 

“I'd say we know I've never been too romantic,” Chris laughed. Suddenly, however, she became serious, gentler. She laid her hand on Julio's heart, feeling his heart beat quietly under the rough fabric of his shirt. “Did you really realize then that you loved me?”

“We stopped among the flowers, and the sun hit your hair. It looked red. Fiery.” Julio admitted, sighing, dreamily,as if he were returning to that precise moment so many years earlier. “You turned to tell me something and it was ... like I was seeing you for the first time.” 

“You too,” Chris sighed. “You had a peculiar look. It looked like you were pondering something.”

Julio was silent for a moment, surprised that she also remembered that moment, and that she noticed he was upset.

“I looked at you and thought you were beautiful, even though you were sweaty and disheveled and sneezing from pollen.” Julio admitted. “I told myself that one day I would take off my wedding ring, that I would be free, and that maybe the woman I would do it for could be you.”

“Yeah, too bad it took you forever to realize you really wanted to do it.” Chris huffed, mocking him. “And I almost married someone else in the meantime.”

“I finally did it, though,” Julio protested. He took her left hand, running his thumb over the ring he had placed on her finger. It was no longer Maria's wedding ring that he wore - that one rested in a little box in the nightstand drawer, along with the memories of a past life. “And it was worth it, because I know you're crazy about me anyway, Mrs. Sanchez.”

Chris smiled, resting her head against Julio's shoulder blade - in the same spot where he had been injured so many years before, where she had pressed with all her strength to stop a hemorrhage that could have killed him.

“My mother has sunflowers planted in the garden. I could ask her for the seeds,” Chris said after a while. 

Julio squeezed her tighter. He looked forward to planting them with her, waiting for them to bloom, and watching them and remembering that moment each time. 

The first time she had made him breathless, and made his heart beat faster.