Thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy the conclusion to the fic.

The line Manolo sings is altered from Alejandro Fernandez's "Canta Corazon (Sing Heart)" because I...can't write songs. Just consider it a homage to the movie, please, ha.

Thanks goes out to vejii for talking me through the most of the fic and encouraging me to finish it.

During all his years of traveling, Joaquin had never liked the desert nights.

They were too quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional snuffling snort from Plata as he dreamed, or the crackling of the low-banked fire. The quiet had made the desert seem endless and empty, though Joaquin had known that beyond the desert's boundaries lay San Angel, and that the desert was full of life, just hidden or sleeping.

This particular desert night was different than all the others, of course. For one thing, it wasn't quiet. At the other side of the campfire, Manolo hummed a wordless tune as he scoured the dirty pots and plates. He'd insisted. Joaquin and Maria had cooked, that meant Manolo would clean. He'd stripped down to his undershirt; his arms flexed as he scrubbed. He smiled and paused as Maria rested her chin on his shoulder.

Leaning her weight against his back, her arms wrapped loosely around Manolo's waist, she surveyed his handiwork. Her lips pursed. Then she pointed and laughingly informed him that he'd missed a spot.

Joaquin smiled, watching them. It still seemed too good to be true, having them here with him. He felt as though if he closed his eyes for too long he'd discover that this was just a pleasant dream. He shook himself free of the stupor that had fallen over him after supper, when the fire and his full stomach had half-lulled him to sleep.

He got to his feet as Manolo frowned into the pot like it had personally insulted him. "Need a hand there, Manolo?"

Manolo's expression cleared. He grinned and shook his head. "Thank you, but I think I can handle a few pots."

Maria kissed Manolo's cheek and then stepped away. "In that case, I'm going to do some exercises before bed."

"Exercises?" Joaquin asked, interested. It was a little late in the evening, but he still found himself glancing towards Maria's packs and the practice blades there.

"Martial arts exercises," Maria said, to his disappointment. Then she paused, giving both Joaquin and Manolo a slow, considering look. The mischievous curve of her lips was familiar. She added, slowly, "You know, I could teach you both if you wanted..."

Joaquin remembered imagining Maria instructing the awe-faced orphans, correcting their stances and adjusting their grips on the practice swords. It was just as easy to picture him and Manolo in their place, Manolo smiling as Maria touched his back and rearranged him into a new position. Anticipation warmed Joaquin's stomach. He shrugged one shoulder and grinned. "Well, I'm up for it as long as it means I get to be part of your future brigade, capitánana."

He dodged her fist. "Joaquin!" Amused exasperation colored her voice. She said, "For the last time, I am not creating a brigade. I just want the orphans to know self-defense, that's all."

"If you say so," Joaquin said. Not wanting another punch, he kept the disbelief out of his voice. Then he thought of the orphanage. If Maria and Manolo had remained behind, she would have probably started the children's training by now. He rubbed at his jaw. "I'm sorry we left San Angel before you could teach them anything. I just didn't want to give the bandits too much of a head start."

Maria smiled. "Oh, I already started everyone on the basics." She laughed softly at his surprise. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "What did you think I was doing while you and Manolo helped repair the gate? It didn't take me all day to show Papa how to take care of Chuy."

"Right, of course not," Joaquin said, though he'd assumed exactly that. Her training the kids probably explained by none of them had gotten underfoot during the rebuilding, though. He grinned and offered Maria a little bow. "Well, I'm ready whenever you are."

Maria didn't answer at first. Instead she studied him again, an appraising gaze that made him want to touch his mustache and assure himself that there weren't any crumbs caught there from supper. "You might want to take off a few layers," she said at last.

He brought a hand to his chest instinctively. The medals felt almost cold against his fingertips. He remembered recounting the story of each medal to her, and Maria's indulgent smile. Something like embarrassment twisted in his gut. He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Except in emergencies, I always fight in full uniform. Shouldn't I train wearing it? That's how your father taught me."

Maria looked thoughtful for a moment, her head tilted to one side like a bird. Then she smiled. "How about a compromise? Don't wear your uniform for the first few lessons, until I'm sure that you're doing the exercises correctly. Once I think you've got it, you can get back into uniform."

That didn't sound too bad. Besides, Joaquin would look pretty ridiculous if he did the training wrong just because he felt strange without his uniform. He grinned. "It's a deal."

Joaquin realized his mistake almost immediately.

Maria had announced that she needed to change, and slipped around to the other side of the fire. Joaquin hadn't really considered what she was changing into, too busy taking off his coat and folding it carefully, the familiar clink of the medals against each other reassuring somehow.

Then Manolo had said, "Oh," in a tone he'd never heard before, like he'd just had his breath knocked out of him.

Joaquin had turned to find Maria smiling at them in some short-sleeved outfit with pants. The white fabric was loose but still showed most of Maria's arms and ankles. Her feet were bare; her toes dug into the dirt as she folded her arms against her chest and raised an eyebrow. When they both just stared at her, she laughed. "Well? Are you two ready?"

Joaquin opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat felt dry. It seemed like hours since he'd had that cup of wine with his supper. He wondered if it was too late to make some excuse and just let Manolo and Maria do the exercises, because this was going to be even worse than that first fencing practice. He should stop staring, but it was impossible to look away.

Maria's belt was cinched tight at her waist, her hair pulled up into another ponytail. When she took a step closer, her entire body swayed with the movement. Her pants rode up, flashing more of her legs. Somehow she looked exactly like the Maria he'd always known and yet a complete stranger too, a Maria who had loved and experienced so much of Europe, who'd learned fencing and kung fu and horseback riding and who knew what else.

Her smile flashed, sweet and dangerous all at once, in the firelight. "Well?"

Next to him, Manolo coughed. Maybe his throat felt like Joaquin's, because when he spoke, Manolo's voice sounded rough. "Yes. Ready."

It only got worse from there.

Joaquin had imagined Maria adjusting Manolo's stance. He hadn't thought about how often she would touch him. But then she stepped close, tipping her head up to smile at him. "We're going to work on breathing first," she said. One of her hands rested upon his lower back, the other upon his stomach. Her hands were very warm, even through his thin shirt.

He swallowed, his throat still dry. "Um, Maria? I know how to breathe," he said, though in that moment he wasn't sure that was true. His chest felt tight. When he drew in a shallow, unsteady breath, he was dizzied by the firm press of her hands and the smell of smoke lingering in her hair.

Maria's smile widened. "You know how to breathe when you're fighting with a sword," she corrected. "Martial arts use a different type of breathing. Now, take two deep breaths, one normally, and one like you would when you're about to lunge against an enemy."

Joaquin obeyed, caught in Maria's grip, his chest still tight and strange. He was both relieved and disappointed when she nodded and stepped away to do the same thing to Manolo, who grinned at her even as he obediently took two deep breaths. Joaquin tried to get a grip. What was he doing, besides acting like an idiot? He had to stop. Maria had chosen Manolo. They were married. He had to stop, or else he'd ruin the precious friendships he'd already come so close to losing before.

He just needed to train himself out of the way his chest got tight whenever Maria touched him, how his heart still hurt a little every time he looked at Manolo and Maria together. He repeated this to himself, silently, the entire time Maria took them through the exercises, walking them slowly through a handful of stances.

It was a relief when Maria finally said, "Well, that will do for the first lesson." She sounded satisfied. When Joaquin looked at her, she was smiling. She stretched, rising to her tiptoes as she yawned and extended her hands high above her head. Then she paused, her face tipped up towards the sky. Her smile softened. "Oh! The stars are so beautiful tonight. You can't see them half so well in cities, you know."

Manolo looked up. His expression changed as well. He was quiet for a second, just looking. Then his gaze lowered, resting on Maria, and Joaquin knew he was going to say something sentimental even before he spoke. "They're not as beautiful as you, my love, but they are very-" Manolo broke off, laughing, as Maria slapped lightly at his shoulder.

"Flatterer," she scolded, smiling. Then she turned to Joaquin, her look expectant. "Well? Aren't they beautiful?"

"Oh, sure," Joaquin said. It must not have sounded enthusiastic enough, though, because Maria raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. The stars were pretty, he guessed, but they were dull compared to the brightness of Maria's smile and the gleam in Manolo's eyes as he watched her. Joaquin rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged again. He said slowly, feeling a little silly, "I don't know, I guess they are. They just seem pretty far away."

"I-" Manolo began, and interrupted himself with a yawn. He grinned ruefully. "I know the horses did most of the work, but I'm still tired. I think I'm going to find wherever I packed my bedroll and sleep." He slipped an arm around Maria's waist, and kissed her, first on the cheek, chaste, and then on the mouth, far less so.

As Maria laughed into the kiss, Joaquin hastily turned back towards the fire. He crouched in front of the fire, double-checking that it would last the night. They didn't need an enormous bonfire, just something big enough to keep away predators. Still looking at the flames, Joaquin said, "I'll take first watch. Just let me know who's going next- uh, just let me know who's taking the second shift, okay?"

"I'll take the second shift," Maria said. Joaquin repressed a startled jump, because her voice was very close. She rested her hand on Joaquin's shoulder, and he paused in mid-turn. She'd come up on his blind side. When he turned his head, her smile was soft. "And we'll set up your bedroll for you."

He smiled back, ignoring the ridiculous flutter of his heart. "Thanks." He closed his eyes at the light brush of her lips against his cheek. His eyes were still shut when a familiar pair of arms wrapped around his chest. He grinned a little and reached back to blindly pat Manolo. His hand touched Manolo's cheek, his fingertips brushing Manolo's ear. He felt Manolo laugh against his palm. "Good night, Manny."

"Good night, Joaquin."

His shift passed slowly, but even left to his own thoughts, the desert didn't seem as endless or lonely as before. Every time loneliness tied to touch him, he reminded himself that Maria and Manolo were here. If he strained his ears and listened, he could hear their soft breathing, and the rustle of Manolo's bedroll as he tossed and mumbled in his sleep.

When Joaquin went to wake Maria for her shift, he saw that Manolo and Maria had curled into a joint embrace, their foreheads pressed against each other, Manolo's hand resting on the small of Maria's back. The firelight illuminated their dreaming faces, and the steady rise and fall of their chests.

He knelt beside them, just watching, still unable to believe his good fortune that they were both alive and here with him. More and more the first few hours of the Day of the Dead seemed like a bad dream, though he knew that it had all really happened, that Manolo had really died and challenged a god to return to Maria. For the first time he thought to wonder if there were scars on Maria and Manolo's legs where Xibalba's snakes had bitten them.

Joaquin reached out to wake Maria. He hesitated as she sighed and shifted in her sleep, her arm curling tighter around Manolo's shoulders. Her ring caught in the firelight and glittered gold. He thought of the engagement ring he'd bought, now tucked away in one of his packs. He winced a little, remembering his cheerful optimism as he'd bought the ring, the jeweler's amused smile as he'd told her how he was going to marry the most beautiful woman in all of Mexico. It was probably a boast she'd heard countless times. She couldn't have known that Joaquin had been speaking the truth about Maria's beauty. He wondered if the jeweler would say anything when he returned the ring, or if she'd be kind enough to say nothing.

After they'd tracked down the bandits, maybe he'd suggest that they visit Mexico City. He could return the ring. And surely Maria would want to see the capital. For a moment he let himself imagine the delight on Maria's face as he showed her the Casa de los Azulejos, El Ángel, Chapultepec Forest, the National Library... It was as fine as a city as any in Europe. She and Manolo would love it.

He dropped his hand to his side. He didn't have the heart to wake her, not when she and Manolo fitted together like they were made for each other. Besides, he wasn't that tired. He could do another shift, and let them rest a little longer. He started to straighten. Then he paused as Maria murmured sleepily, "Time for my shift?"

When he looked back at her, he was caught by Maria's drowsy gaze. He was glad for the dark, which hid the guilty warmth that rushed to his face. How long had she been awake? Had she caught him staring? He hoped she hadn't. Considering it, he figured that it was probably a little weird, him staring at them while they slept.

He bent down, whispering, "No, not yet, go back to sleep."

But Maria was already sitting up, Manolo's hand sliding away from her back. She brushed a few curls away from her face and yawned. Her smile was sleepy but sweet. Joaquin felt a rush of relief. She must have just woken up. She said, "I guess nothing exciting happened during your shift."

Joaquin feigned surprise. "You mean you and Manolo slept through me fighting off twenty bandits? Wow, you guys sure are heavy sleepers." As she laughed, he helped her to her feet and added, "Nah, it's been quiet."

Maria's smile widened. "Good." Her hand was warm; when he went to pull away, she tightened her grip. She looked more awake now. She raised her chin, her eyes meeting his. There was an odd look on her face, half-searching. Her smile shifted to something quiet and tentative. "Joaquin," she said slowly, and stopped. Her brow creased. "You know that you don't have to wear your eye-patch when you sleep, right?"

He nearly touched the eye-patch, but caught himself. Still his hand twitched at his side, and he knew that she'd seen the gesture. He shrugged and tried to smile. He was suddenly too aware of the patch, the way the strap rubbed and irritated his skin. The patch itself was probably dusty and grimy-looking from their journey, too, now that he thought about it. He'd have to clean it at some point, he thought vaguely, and then realized he hadn't answered her question. "Well. I mean, I don't want to get dirt in-" He hesitated. "I could take it off, if you want."

Maria smiled at him, her expression full of soft affection. As she had when they'd fenced, she reached out and traced the eye-patch's outline with her fingers. He held very still beneath her touch, conscious of Manolo, still asleep at their feet. "You don't have to, if it bothers you," she said. Her voice was very quiet. "Manolo and I just want you to feel comfortable, that's all."

He didn't know what to think about the fact that she and Manolo had discussed his eye-patch. He remembered Manolo reaching out to touch it, how he'd flinched from Manolo's hand. He wanted to explain that he didn't regret losing his eye, that he'd have gladly given up both eyes to keep Manolo alive, but the words wouldn't come. He swallowed. "Okay," he said instead. He took a step back, her fingers brushing his cheek before her hand dropped away. He tried another smile. "Maybe tomorrow."

"All right," Maria said, but the crease lingered between her eyes.

Joaquin turned, and then stopped. He looked once, squinting with his remaining eye, and then again, but the only bedrolls he saw were Maria's empty one and the one in which Manolo was currently ensconced. He scratched at his jaw. "Uh, did you guys forget to set up my bedroll...?"

"Oh, that." When he looked at her, Maria's smile was back in full force, a familiar gleam in her eyes. She shrugged one shoulder. "We thought you could use mine." His expression must have changed, because she giggled, a sudden outburst of mirth. "It's not that strange! Besides, if only two of us are sleeping at a time, why not use two bedrolls and then use the third as an extra cover?"

"Extra covers are good," Manolo said at their feet, his tone plaintive. "I'm cold." When Joaquin looked down, wondering how long Manolo had been awake, Manolo stared up at him with an expression of woe. He even shivered for emphasis, clutching at the blankets he'd wrapped around his shoulders and adding another mournful, "Very cold."

Joaquin crouched next to him, unable to keep from smiling at Manolo's dramatic complaints. The tightness in his chest eased, replaced by affection. He touched the back of Manolo's neck, resting his palm against the exposed skin. He ran his thumb over the soft hairs there and said, grinning, "Nice try. You don't even have goosebumps."

Manolo didn't say anything, just looked at him from under his lashes, his expression pensive, as though he wondered how far he could take his theatrics. Then he grinned, a crooked sideways smile. He seized Joaquin's shoulders and pulled.

Joaquin, precariously balanced on the balls of his feet and caught off-guard, went down like a ton of bricks. "Hey," he protested through a mouthful of blanket. Behind him, Maria was laughing. He lifted his head and rolled his eye at Manolo's satisfied look. "Very funny." He reached out, tousling Manolo's hair in revenge, and grinned as Manolo slapped at his hands. Dodging Manolo's blows, he laughed. "What? You have a bit of bedhead going, buddy, I'm just trying to help." He swiped at a particular curl that had fallen in front of Manolo's eyes.

This time Manolo grabbed his wrist. His other hand settled against Joaquin's chest, palm flat against his shirt. Joaquin hadn't forgotten how strong Manolo was, exactly, but he was still a little startled at the power behind the gesture. He held still, catching his breath. Manolo's hands were warm even through Joaquin's undershirt; he could feel the calluses on Manolo's fingers as they rubbed against his wrist.

"Giving up?" he asked, grinning.

To his surprise, Manolo's expression changed, shifting to the same unreadable look from the bedroom. He opened his mouth, and then hesitated. He glanced over Joaquin's shoulder, to where Maria still stood. The odd expression lingered. There was almost a question in his eyes now.

"Joaquin," he said.

Joaquin's name sounded a little weird, the way Manolo said it, but familiar too. After a second Joaquin realized why. Manolo sounded like Maria when she'd tried to discuss Joaquin's eye-patch. He sighed. Did they really have to talk about it again? "You don't have to say anything. Maria already told me," he said. He blinked at the way Manolo's hand suddenly clenched on his wrist, how some of the color went from Manolo's face. "What? I told her I'd take off my eye-patch tomorrow night, since it, uh. Since it bothers you guys. It's not-"

"Your eye-patch," Manolo echoed, and then made a weird sound, like he was laughing but not. "No, that's not what I..." He stopped again and shook his head. Frustration crept into his expression. His hand pressed harder against Joaquin's chest, fingers digging into his shirt like he was trying to hold Joaquin still, though Joaquin hadn't moved.

"Then what? What's bothering you?" Joaquin reached out and patted Manolo's hand, the one half-clutching at his chest. Manolo's frustration was infectious, or maybe it was just that Joaquin hated seeing the strain in his face and the unhappy tension in his shoulders. He tried to think of what might be wrong. Maybe Manolo had changed his mind about wanting to go after the bandits?

Joaquin's stomach twisted as another thought struck him. What if he hadn't hidden how much Maria's touch still affected him? What if Manolo had noticed and was bothered by it? His throat tightened. He imagined Manolo saying he'd changed his mind, that he thought maybe he and Maria should go back to San Angel. He said, quietly, "Talk to me. Please."

Manolo's mouth twisted into a funny shape. "I don't know how to talk about this," he said, the words almost a whisper.

"Then don't," Maria said, suddenly standing next to them, on Joaquin's good side.

When he looked at her, wondering if she knew what was going on in Manolo's head, she smiled. Some of his anxiety eased, just a little, at the reassurance in her expression. Surely things couldn't be a worst-case scenario when Maria could still smile like that. She knelt beside them, uncaring of the dirt that stained her nightdress. She held Manolo's guitar in one hand. The other hand settled upon Joaquin's back, her hand warm between his shoulder-blades.

Joaquin had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. Only that wasn't really right, because before it had been Manolo, surrounded by his parents and Maria, and Joaquin on the outside, watching. He tried to smile back, but he didn't think he succeeded, too aware of Manolo's tense, motionless hands, the frown that still twisted Manolo's face.

Maria held out the guitar to Manolo. Her smile was soft. "Sing instead," she said.

For a second Manolo didn't move. Then his hands left Joaquin's chest and wrist, cool air replacing their warmth. As he took the guitar, something relaxed in his shoulders. A smile spread across his face, faint and struggling but there. Manolo took Maria's hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, so tenderly that Joaquin's chest tightened, watching. "You're brilliant, my love."

"Of course I am," Maria said, her smile touched briefly with humor. Then her expression settled into a quiet, focused look. For a second Joaquin would have sworn that she stroked her fingers up his spine, a quick, feather-light touch. But then her hand was gone from his back. She nudged at him, knocking a fist against his knee until he understood what she wanted. He crossed his legs and sat down.

She settled against his side like they used to when Manolo was first learning how to play his guitar. They would sit and listen to him pluck determinedly at the strings, learning the notes, both like and unlike the way he now tuned his guitar. Manolo stood and paced, three steps away and then three steps back, his hands moving quickly and nervously over the strings.

Joaquin wanted to take him by the elbow and tell him to calm down, that everything was fine. But everything obviously wasn't, not when Manolo kept frowning at the guitar. He stayed quiet, Maria's knee pressed against his. She rested her head upon his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek. His chest hurt again; he was overwhelmed with tenderness. He ached, wanting to hold her close, but also wanting space so that he could think clearly.

He wondered what Manolo thought, looking at them together. The conflicted feelings knotted his stomach. He closed his eye and didn't move, listening to the quiet notes Manolo drew from the strings.

Maria's hand touched his other shoulder. When he turned his head, her eyes met his. He was caught by the intensity of her gaze. She studied him for a moment, like she wished she could read his mind. Biting her lip, she said, "Joaquin. Promise me that you'll listen to Manolo's song. All of it."

Joaquin managed a smile at that, though he didn't really understand the request. Did she think that he was going to run off as soon as Manolo told him to get over her? He hadn't run away when they'd gotten married. He wouldn't now. He wondered suddenly if that was what she'd thought his plan to go after the bandits alone had been. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. He said instead, "I promise," and was rewarded by a grateful smile.

"Okay," Manolo said. When Joaquin looked at him, he was still frowning down at his guitar. He took a deep breath, not looking at either Joaquin or Maria. "Okay." Then he began to play.

Joaquin frowned. The melody was familiar, tugging at his memory. It almost sounded like the song Manolo had sung to Maria at the balcony. It couldn't be, of course. He closed his eye, trying not to think about how stupid he'd been, panicking as Maria had smiled down at Manolo, knowing that he was losing her. He'd thought that if he just proposed first, that she would choose him instead, as though Maria could have been dazzled by some ring.

Manolo's voice filled the air, soft but scratchy. He sang of love, the kind that overwhelmed and emptied you of everything but tenderness, that left you struggling to speak because words felt inadequate. Joaquin knew without looking that Manolo was smiling at Maria, his face soft with adoration. His chest ached again, worse than before, like his heart would burst from pain. He shouldn't have agreed to let Maria and Manolo come with him to chase down the bandits. With time and distance, maybe he would've been able to control himself better, not upset Manolo-

Maria's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Joaquin," she whispered urgently. "Joaquin, you're not paying attention."

"I am," he said. He opened his eye. The rest of his argument caught in his throat. At some point between Joaquin closing his eye and now, Manolo had knelt in front of them. He was smiling. At Maria, of course, but the smile encompassed Joaquin too, and there was something in the tentative curve of his lips, a softness in his eyes, that stole Joaquin's breath and made him think, Oh.

It was like a blow to the head, this revelation. He'd thought he'd seen clearly before, but he'd been wrong. He'd still been blind. He hadn't seen the affection that shone in Manolo's eyes, the tenderness that wasn't for Maria alone, if Joaquin had only looked. All this time Joaquin had thought Maria had had to choose between them, with someone left behind. He'd never considered she might want them both, or that Manolo would want him. He hadn't even recognized his own feelings, that the rush of affection he felt whenever he looked at Manolo was friendship, of course, but also something else entirely.

His chest hurt again, but it was a new pain, hope clenched tight around his heart like a fist. He sat there like a stone, heavy with longing.

Manolo met his gaze. Whatever he saw in Joaquin's face made him fumble with the guitar. It protested with an off-key warbling note. Then Manolo's smile grew, until it lit up his entire face. Joaquin's vision swam and blurred with hot tears as Manolo sang, rough-voiced with sincerity, "Sing, heart, because the loves of my life are already here."

"Manolo," Joaquin said, hoarsely, because if Manolo said another word he really was going to start crying. Already his throat was tight, his eyelashes wet with half-shed tears. He groped blindly, still feeling strangely heavy as he clutched at Maria's hand and reached out for Manolo. After a second, Manolo's hand clasped his and held on tight. He tried to speak, but a watery laugh escaped him instead. Then he thought of San Angel, of Maria's father and everyone else, what they would think if they knew, and sobered. "Can we, uh, do this? It's not exactly, um-"

"We're writing our own stories, remember?" Maria said. "Forging our own paths." The resolve in her voice steadied him. Her other hand touched his cheek then, brushing the tears away. He blinked, once, twice, until he could see. She stroked his cheek again, a slow, tender sweep of her fingers that made him grow hot beneath the collar of his shirt. Her sweet and dangerous smile curving her lips, she added, "And I'd like to see anyone try and tell me I can't have both of my boys."

Joaquin kissed her. In his eagerness, he half-missed her smiling mouth. He kissed the corner of her lips instead. He drew back a little, face hot, about to apologize. That hadn't been anything like he'd imagined. In all his daydreams he'd been suave, sweeping Maria off her feet like, well, like Manolo had when he'd emerged from the Land of the Forgotten and kissed her.

Then Maria laughed, a bright, ringing shout of laughter. She leaned forward. Then they were kissing the way he'd wanted, warm and eager, breathing roughly against each other's lips, neither wanting to stop. Maria hummed a satisfied sound against his mouth, her hand curled around the back of his neck to hold him still. They kissed until Joaquin was breathless. Then Maria broke away, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling.

Joaquin smiled helplessly at her. He'd always known she was beautiful, but now, her hair in disarray, her nightdress half-falling from her shoulder, affection and desire plain on her face, she was beyond beautiful. He swallowed, thickly, still half-doubting that this could be real, that he could have this with them. He clutched at Manolo's hand. "We sure lucked out, Manolo," he whispered.

"We did," Manolo agreed. When Joaquin turned, Manolo was very close, his eyes dark. He'd set his guitar aside. For a second Joaquin just looked at him, studying Manolo's features that were as beloved as Maria's, marveling at the desire that now seemed so obvious in Manolo's face. How long had Manolo looked at him like this, he wondered. How long had he mistaken the love in Manolo's face for friendship, and only friendship.

Then Manolo kissed him, his mouth hot and desperate, and Joaquin couldn't wonder anymore. Manolo showered kisses upon Joaquin's mouth, his jaw, and then, after a second's hesitation, pressed a light, almost shy kiss Joaquin's eye-patch.

A groan escaped Joaquin at that last kiss. He thought that this time he might really burst. His vision swam again. He gave in to the desire that had grown in him with every kiss. He swept both Manolo and Maria into his arms, Maria giggling as she half-fell into his lap. She bumped shoulders with Manolo, who'd overbalanced and fallen heavily against Joaquin's chest. They both clutched at him, still laughing, warm, heavy weights that kept him grounded, because now he felt as light as air. He held them close, not wanting to ever let go, pressing his hot face against Maria's curls.

Maria smoothed a hand over his hair. When he raised his head, she smiled at him. She leaned forward and kissed his eye-patch as well, not tentatively, but firmly, like she was making a point he'd missed. "If you ask me, I think I'm the lucky one," she said, her breath soft against his skin. Her hands came to rest gently against his and Manolo's cheeks. "My beautiful boys."

For a second Joaquin couldn't speak, overwhelmed. He took a deep breath, but it strained in his chest. He took another breath, and this time it caught in his throat, thick with tears. He swallowed. "Maria. Manolo. I love you both so much," he managed at last. Then he really did cry, a single heaving sob that shook his entire frame. Manolo made an alarmed sound. He shook his head quickly, laughing a little through his tears. "I'm okay, I just, you guys-"

Words failed him, and he smiled helplessly at them.

Understanding bloomed upon Manolo's face. He pressed a hand to Joaquin's chest, where his heart beat a joyous tempo. Maria leaned against Joaquin's shoulder, her face tipped towards his. The corners of Manolo's eyes crinkled as he looking at them. The smile he wore put all the stars to shame, and Joaquin knew this moment was what he would carry with him forever: Manolo's brilliant smile, and Maria's expectant look, and the way they both felt right in his arms.

"Sing, my heart," Joaquin said softly, speaking rather than singing the words, and kissed them both.