All my tough talk from two days ago doesn't really help much as I stand outside the hospital now, looking up at the five-story glass and steel building. Actually, I'm frightened out of my mind, and I want to take a step back before running away. Instead, Carson takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You can do this, Andrea,” he says, looking into my eyes. He's dressed up today, with tweed trousers, a gray turtleneck, and a houndstooth check sport coat with, of all things, corduroy patches on the elbows. Meanwhile I'm dressed in my typical power suit, bought just yesterday off the rack after sleeping from sunrise to noon, and after visiting Melissa and Nathan in the clinic. It's not a great suit, but it works, and I feel at least slightly more comfortable in it than I would in jeans and a t-shirt.

“I don't know, Carson,” I mumble, trying to look away. Carson doesn't let me though, his eyes powerful and unflinching. I take a deep breath, and nod. “I'll try.”

“I know you will,” he says. “I'll be right next to you the whole time.”

“Wish you could be carrying your pistol,” I grumble, steeling my nerves. “That'd help too.”

“Gun-free zone, and he's under arrest. Next time, my dove,” Carson says softly, a thrill rolling through my body. I'd been able to wash my face gently this morning, so I know I'm healing, and the idea of being able to be together with Carson again leaves me weak in the knees.

“Yes sir,” I whisper playfully, and take his hand. We go into the hospital, where the nurse at the front desk checks our IDs before we head up. I was surprised I still had it actually, but my driver's license was tucked inside my wallet behind my student ID for school, so up I go.

The cops check our IDs again when we get to Peter's room, and give us a metal detector sweep, the only beep coming from Carson's belt buckle. The cop nods, and gives us the rules. “He's in custody, so no passing him anything,” the cop says, “but his lawyers have already been in here, so there's no recording in there either. At least from us.”

“Thanks. And if we need help?”

The cop gives me an incredulous look, then shrugs. “Just holler. He ain't getting out of bed anyway. Not with his injuries.”

I nod and the cop opens the door. I'm surprised when I see that Margaret DeLaCoeur is in the room, too. She looks up, her face twisting into a mask of hate, or at least the closest thing her overly worked on face can produce. Nearly a year in prison hasn't been kind to her, her age fighting with her plastic surgery and the lack of upkeep that prison does to the body, leaving her looking both ancient and eternally plasticky youthful at the same time. “What are you doing here, you bitch?”

“Nice to see you too, Margaret,” I reply, not letting her rattle me. The cop closes the door behind us, but it's unlocked. “I see you're wearing your contacts again.”

Margaret, whose eyes are normally a muddy hazel-brown, blinks, pissed. For years she's worn vanity contacts to try and copy the unique natural blue of the DeLaCoeurs, eyes that I'm proud to have simply because of the way Carson looks at them. I'm proud to share them with Jackson and now with my namesake niece, even though the man lying in the hospital bed in front of me is the source. “No thanks to you.”

“We're not here to have a fight with you, Mrs. DeLaCoeur,” Carson says, folding his hands together in front of him. “We came to speak to your husband.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Peter rasps from his bed, turning his gauze-covered face toward us. His voice is partially slurred, I'm sure he's on enough pain drugs to leave him somewhat in la-la land, but he's still mostly here. With that much pain, you'd probably have to be mainlining heroin to be able to dull the pain fully.

“Carson Sands, Mr. DeLaCoeur. You might know my sister, Melissa?”

Margaret winces, then chuckles. “That's a name I haven't heard in a while. Sands. So I guess you want to get your pound of flesh, too?”

Carson shakes his head, dismissing it. “Not at all. I think I got mine the other day, although I'm not sure if the weight's exactly correct. How much skin did you get burned off the other day anyway?”

He tries to sit up, pissed off, but he's handcuffed to the bed, and can't do much even if the drugs weren't coursing through his system. “You...”

“Don't quote me boy, cuz I ain't said shit,” Carson replies, chuckling. “But I'm just here to make sure Andrea stays safe. It's... it's what I do.”

“So what the hell do you want?” Margaret hisses, trying not to jump out of her chair. I'm pretty sure that if she didn't think she'd be arrested, she'd be trying to claw my eyes out right now. “To gloat?”

I shake my head, and approach the end of the bed, looking Peter in the eye. “You were a stupid man the other day, Peter. Not that I expect any different from you, you've been stupid ever since you did what you did to my mother. But then to hire a man like Vadim Orloff... sloppy, very sloppy.”

“You were lucky,” Peter rasps, and I wonder if his voice sounds like this because of the explosion. “Damn lucky.”

“Or it's just karma coming back around,” I reply, shrugging. “I don't really know. I just wanted you to know, we're not going to be so complacent next time.”

“We?”

“Jackson, Katrina and Baby Andrea send their greetings,” I ad-lib. “They're very much enjoying married life, by the way.”

“Bitch... this isn't over,” Peter rasps, his voice quaking with rage. “I swear to you, this isn't over.”

“When are you going to just let it go?” I ask, curious. “You try to go after Katrina, you lose your home, your son and daughter, a lot of your fortune, and spend a year in jail. By the way, I did enjoy those jewels while I had them. You try again, and look at you now. What do you think it going to happen if you try a third time?”

Peter's hands tremble in anger, and Margaret looks like her head's about to explode she's so angry, but I continue. “Let it go, Peter. Take whatever deal the feds offer you, and let it go. You'll probably die in prison, but at least you leave something behind. Hell, they might even let Margaret go with just time served if you do. You stayed with her for nearly thirty years, there had to have been a reason for that. You keep this up, though... you're just going to destroy whatever is left of your life, and you will fail. I guarantee you that.”

“How? I already know Nathan's dead, and the Grammercy bitch isn't that good. Next time, I won't send one, I'll send a whole Colombian death-squad,” Peter hisses, his eyes blazing in fury. “You and your little stunt... you realize even if the grafts take, what I'm going to look like?”

“You'll be as hideous on the outside as you are on the inside,” I tell him, grinning. “You won't even have half a decent face like Harvey Dent in the Batman comics. You'll be more like a living, breathing picture of Dorian Gray at the end of the story.”

I don't think Margaret or Peter even gets the reference, but Carson's nod of appreciation causes me to give a half-smile, and I fix my eyes on Peter's. “You really think I could live in your house for eighteen years and not pick up at least a little bit of your ruthlessness? Let it go. Let. It. Go.”

I turn and start to walk away, when Peter's rasp reaches me just as I get to the door. “You're a walking corpse, Andrea. You hear me? A walking corpse. All of you, except the baby. Her... her I'm going to raise better than you ever were. She's going to be the perfect daughter, and she's never going to know a thing about any of you.”

I pause, then look back, taking my hand off the door handle and hold my hand out, curling my fingers over and over. “I'll be waiting. Sayonara.”

I open the door, ignoring as Peter rasps and rages behind me. Carson follows me into the hallway, and we're at the elevator when Margaret slams her palm into the wall next me. “What the fuck did you want to do by coming here, Andrea? You and I have never been close...”

“Never been close? Margaret, I've been dragged in front of you for over twenty years as the living, breathing proof that your husband has fucked around on you,” I reply, refusing to lose my cool. Not with Carson here, and certainly not with these people. “Did you find it as painful and perverse as I did when Peter's girlfriends and affairs started getting younger than me? And as for your little crack against the Sands, Melissa Sands is a better, more beautiful woman than you ever have been or will ever be. So enjoy whatever plastic surgeries you can get, whatever treatments you can talk the doctors into. For a long time I pitied you, thinking you were just bitter and hurt by what Peter's done to you. But while I still pity you, in that one comment, you showed me something else. You're evil, too. You two... you deserve each other. Enjoy it while it lasts. But trust me, do not come after us again.”

The elevator arrives, and I step in with Carson, who's stayed silent this whole time. I turn around and watch the doors close on Margaret's look, cutting her off and starting us toward the ground floor. As soon as we're in motion I turn to Carson, asking silently with my eyes. He reads my expression perfectly, pulling me into a hug that is full of tenderness and compassion before tilting my head up to look into his eyes.

“You were strong, you were amazing, you were everything I knew you could be,” he whispers, his eyes warm and inviting. “I think I love you.”

“I know I love you,” I reply smiling. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. We stay that way, not passionate but gentle and loving, until the elevator dings, and we're at the ground floor. We walk out through the cool autumn sunshine, hand in hand, toward Carson's truck. Sitting in the passenger seat, I watch as he starts the engine and puts it into reverse to pull out of the parking space. “Can I ask a favor?”

Carson stops the truck, shifting into park again. “Of course. What is it?”

“When we get back, would you mind dropping me at the house alone with my brother and Katrina for a while? I need to have a talk with them... about us.”

Carson nods, then chuckles. “I was thinking that Melissa and I need to have that same conversation. I guess now is as good a time as any. Before that though, maybe we should be clear with each other first. I know what I think, and I know what I think you think, but this is big enough, we need to say it clearly. I want this to be more than just a sexual thing between us.”

“Me too,” I reassure him, taking his hand. “Carson, I've never connected with someone the way I have with you. You are the first, and only man who I've ever shown my submissive side to. Nobody else has ever been special enough, for me to trust them with this side of me. And I want that to continue, on more than just the sexual level.”

Carson smiles, his face so handsome I want to just kiss him right now, but his smile fades. “If our families object? I can't ignore 'Lissa, and I can see from how you are with Jackson and Katrina, you can't ignore them either.”

“Let's talk with them,” I reply, looking forward. “I can’t see them acting that way.”

* * *

Katrina and Jackson are outside enjoying the relatively cool autumn air when Carson drops me off in front of the house. When I get around back, I see that Jackson's sitting on the edge of the porch, his cast leg dangling as he watches Katrina and BA play in the dooryard. “Well, well, how was the hospital visit? All hugs and family reunions?”

I laugh and sit down next to Jackson, patting him on the knee. “Hardly. Got to see Margaret, by the way.”

“Oh really? And how is she doing?” Jackson asks. I see Katrina slow down slightly, but she's happy playing with BA, although I can tell she's listening in.

“She looks like the Wicked Witch of the West had a facelift,” I reply, causing Jackson to chuckle. He winces slightly, and I stop. “How're the ribs?”

“Achy, but they told me when they wrapped me up that they're not busted up too bad. If I were an NFL player, they'd probably tell me to bear down and suck it up. I actually walked my butt out here all by myself after Darcy left with Henry. It was good to see her again, sorry I couldn't help the other night.”

“You did more than enough,” I reassure him. “You watched the kids, and that's a full-time job in itself. Jackson, you mind if we have a talk about something serious?”

“Been lots of serious talk over the past few weeks,” Jackson sighs, sitting back. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Me... and Carson.”

Jackson grins and shakes his head. “That isn't serious, Andi. That's goodness right there.”

I stop, stunned. “Say what?”

Jackson half-turns so that he can lean against the porch railing, and gives me a grin. “You heard me. You and him together, that's a good thing. So why are you coming to me all worried?”

“How long have you known?” I ask, giving Katrina a look. She shakes her head though before picking BA up and spinning her around.

“Don't look at me. I told you that it would stay between us, and I kept that promise.” She stops spinning, popping BA onto her hip and coming over to sit down on the steps next to Jackson. “You've been giving off enough signals that anyone with half a brain should have been able to see it. Him, too.”

Jackson cocks an eyebrow. “Andi, what's the problem?” he asks, growing serious. “I mean seriously, what's causing you to stress?”

“Jackson... he's family,” I protest. “He's Melissa's brother, which means he's my brother too, right?”

Jackson shakes his head. “We've talked about this before. He's not, except in the most stretched definition of the word. If you want to look at it from an emotional standpoint, Melissa is the unacknowledged daughter of another one of Peter's affairs, maybe his first actually. It's not like you and me, where we've known each other since we were kids and have an emotional history. Until roughly three weeks ago, you didn't even know Melissa Sands existed. So while it's not your typical relationship, there's nothing that I think anyone but the most stuck-up idiot would want to say about you and Carson being together. Let me ask you the most important question then. Do you love him?”

“I think so,” I answer immediately, then blush. “It’s not like I have much experience with that word. But he does bring things out in me that no one else has.”

“Oh yeah?” Jackson asks, surprised. “What's this?”

“He’s a good man,” I tell Katrina, ignoring Jackson's smirk. He's getting better, but he's still immature sometimes. “I told him today, he's the first and only man who will ever bring it out in me.” I’m sure she gets my meaning, since she overheard us and all.

Jackson goes to make a comment, then goes serious. “We’re happy for you.”

It's my turn to be surprised as I give Katrina a look, and she shrugs. “He has his days. You know, there's a good reason why we named our daughter after you, Andrea. Because I love you, Jackson loves you, and we want to always have a piece of you with us, even if it was just a namesake. When you and Jackson parted fourteen months ago, he was convinced that we'd never see each other again, and that hurt him, because he realized how much he missed out on with you. Now that we're a more active part of each other's lives again, I don't want to wait another fourteen months before seeing you again.”

“I don't want to go fourteen days without seeing you guys again, let alone months, what are you talking about?” I laugh, smiling. “So you guys are cool with it?”

“Of course. We love you, and we want you to be happy. What else is there to worry about?”

“You mean besides the fact that Peter's hellbent on making sure all of us don't live to see our next birthdays?” I ask, and Katrina laughs.

“Yeah, little things like that, but I'm sure you told him off the right way.”

“Sure. I told him if he tried it, we'd take the rest of what he has away from him, and he'd still fail.”

Jackson reaches out, taking my hand. We interlock fingers, palm to palm like we did when we were little, before we drifted apart for too many years. “That's my sister, all right. I love you, Andrea.”

BA, hearing what she thinks is her name, coos and then laughs, reaching out for her father. We all laugh, and Jackson gets a twinkle in his eye. “Hey guys, I had an idea. How about we teach BA here what a three person belly blower feels like?”

Sounds wonderful to me.