George slowly stirred his coffee. He brought the spoon up, then plunged it back down, over and over. He stared at his hand making the motion.
He felt dead. Seventy-two hours on duty, with a grand total of 3 hours of bad sleep.
"I'm getting too old for this," he said. He dropped the spoon into the coffee, and rubbed his hands over his face and through his curly brown hair.
"Something wrong with the coffee?" asked the diner waitress, snapping her gum. George let his hands fall to the table.
"No, coffee's fine, thanks," he said wearily. The waitress walked away. George stared out the window at the street.
Another waitress came by a few minutes later with his toast and eggs. She plunked the plate down in front of him. George nodded his thanks. He picked up his fork, diving into his eggs when he noticed the waitress was staring at him. He stared back, chewing.
"Don't you remember me?" she asked with a coy smile. George looked at her nametag. Angela. He rolled the name around in his tired brain. Nothing. He swallowed his eggs loudly. She was pretty, too. Shit.
"No, sorry, I don't," he went back to his food, then dropped his fork with a clatter, and looked up at her again. "Should I, Angela?"
Angela's face had fallen slightly. "Well, you should," she said. She leaned close to George's ear. "My name's not Angela. It's Carmen. And I know that you have a scar on your left hip, a long thin one," she whispered. Her breath ruffled the hair on his temple. She straightened.
George's stomach dropped. He took a closer look at Angela/ Carmen. He recognized her now. Her hair was shorter and lighter brown, and she had put on some weight. She looked a lot healthier than the last time he saw her.
"Hello, Carmen," he said cautiously.
"Hello, Patrick," Carmen said. Her face regained its smile.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK,
George thought. She thought he was Patrick. Christ, he didn't need this right now.
"Uh, Carmen," he started to say. She slid into the seat across from him. He felt her foot deftly slide up the inside of his leg, to his groin. George grunted, reached down and gripped her ankle hard. Carmen smiled wickedly, taunting him.
"Been awhile, hasn't it, Patrick? Oh, don't worry, I have no hard feelings," she said. She pressed her foot forward, against his cock. George was too exhausted, and too pissed, to respond. His grip tightened.
"It has, Carmen," he practically spat.
"Touchy aren't we? No big deal." Carmen pulled her leg back. George released her ankle, as she knew he would. "But then, you always had a bit of a temper. I liked you anyway. You were different from all the other thugs I ran with. I knew you would never hurt me." The smile had left. She studied George carefully, a serious look settling on her face. George had forgotten that Carmen often showed more bravado than she actually felt. He relaxed a little.
"Listen, Carmen, we really can't-"
"Pick up where we left off? Never expected us to," she interrupted.
"Angela! Get a move on! Customers are waiting!" yelled a female voice from behind the counter. Carmen rolled her eyes and stood.
"Stick around for half an hour, and we can talk more. If you want," she said. George saw lines in her forehead and around her eyes that hadn't been there two years ago. She looked as weary as he felt.
"Yeah. I'd like that," he said.
Carmen walked off, patting his shoulder as she walked by.
Without much choice in the matter, he was going to be Patrick again.
Half an hour later, Carmen came back George's booth, where he was nursing his third cup of coffee. She jerked her head towards the door, and walked out, swinging a long coat on over her waitress uniform. George grabbed his leather jacket and followed.
"There's a park nearby, that has one of those outdoor theatre things. It's usually quiet," she said once they were outside the diner.
"Yeah, sounds great," George said. He walked along side Carmen, hands shoved in his coat pockets. Carmen lit up a cigarette, and hunched against the stiff autumn breeze.
They walked in silence to the park. The sun had begun to set over the trees as they trudged along the broken path of stones to the outdoor theatre. By the time they got out to their destination, twilight had settled over them, and Carmen had smoked three cigarettes.
She sat down on the lowest bench, looking up at George. He wasn't sure what to say now that they were alone. He scuffed his sneaker toe on the ground, kicking up some dirt. Carmen patted the bench next to her.
"I don't bite," she said kindly. "And I won't molest you again, unless you want me to."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
George sat down next to Carmen. The silence stretched on for a few more minutes.
"So... why Angela?" he finally asked lamely. Carmen snickered.
"I needed an new identity. I couldn't continue being Carmen Ruiz, not after Tommy Callaghan and all them went down. Not all of the gang was thrown in prison, there were still some smaller fish still swimming around that might still want a piece of me. I barely wiggled free of the mess by rolling on the entire gang. I had wanted out for a while anyway. After the trial, I picked a name that had a measure of irony and moved on with my life. Thankfully, the smaller fish are too dumb, or really just don't care enough, to find me."
"I'd bet on dumb before apathy," George said. "There's a reason they were small fish. They haven't managed to get the gang back together. Too many squabbles, and too much machismo."
"Where did you go, Patrick? I mean, you just up and disappeared right before the raid. Did you know the Feds were coming after us?" Carmen narrowed her eyes and looked at George shrewdly.
He sighed heavily. "Nah, I got picked up the day before. Unrelated charges, until some blabbermouth in the jail said something about seeing me with Tommy. They had me between a rock and a hard place. I had to turn," George lied. He watched Carmen out of the corner of his eye to see if she bought it. She shrugged.
"Doesn't much matter now, I guess. We're both out of the life. You are out, aren't you?" Carmen asked, alarmed.
"Yes, Carmen, I'm out of the life. I've gone straight," George said with a smile.
Carmen nodded with approval. "Good. You were too good for it, I could tell. You weren't brought up in it like I was."
George snorted internally. Ain't that the truth, he thought. In the scant moonlight, he studied Carmen's profile. The extra weight filled out her face, making her more feminine and softer than he remembered. Now, she was pretty, whereas two years ago she had been striking in an oddly androgynous way.
"You look good, Carmen," he said truthfully.
"I've gained weight. I don't fit into those slinky clothes the boys like anymore. I look like someone's mother."
"Those slinky clothes only attracted the wrong sort of boys, if I remember correctly."
"They attracted you, didn't they?"
"No, your attitude problem attracted me, Carmen," George said with a laugh. Carmen laughed with him. "Besides, even if you were someone's mother, I'd still sleep with you."
"Thanks, Patrick," she said, still laughing.
It was getting colder. Carmen pulled her coat tighter around herself, shivering. George shifted closer to her, wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into him.
"Always a gentleman," she murmured. She rested her head against his chest. He kissed the top of her head.
"My mother taught me well," he said quietly. He enjoyed the feeling of her new curves under her coat.
"I never had chance to tell you, Patrick. I loved you. You broke my heart when you left. I thought you left because of me, that I did something wrong. I always thought you were better than me, and you finally realized it," Carmen whispered. George hugged her tighter.
"I never thought that. And I didn't leave because of it." George toyed with the idea of telling her the truth. Carmen, I'm a Federal agent. My name's not Patrick, it's George, and I was undercover when you met me. I did love you, Carmen. I think I still do.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't risk blowing his cover in case he needed it again.
"I'm so sorry, Carmen," he whispered. He tilted her head upwards, fingers under her chin. Tears had fallen down her cheeks. George used the pad of his thumb to wipe them away. He bent his head down and kissed her.
He tasted the salt from her tears, and the traces of the cigarettes she had been smoking, strangely sweet. He pressed his lips a little harder against hers. She opened them slightly under the pressure, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Her tongue played along his, twisting in a familiar dance. He felt her press her body against his, heat seeping into his clothes. His hand wandered lower, from her jaw to along her neck, to cup her breast. He gently massaged it, feeling the nipple harden under his palm. Carmen moaned against his mouth.
George pulled his lips away from hers. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her breathing ragged. George felt his cock coming to life, constricted by his jeans. He found himself enjoying the new curves Carmen had acquired.
