Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. Alas, the end. I have had a damn good time writing this story. What started out last year as a tentative whim has become one of my favorite fandoms to write for.

My next JE story is already in my drafting notebook and I'm gonna call it "Line in the Sand". It's going to be another AU, grown up Stephanie BABE fic and I already like what I've written. Hopefully, I can have the Prologue to that up by the middle of the week. Like this one, it's going to start in 3rd person and then shift to POVs. So, if you haven't already, please alert me and I look forward to hearing from you.

Thank you all for your support and for reviewing, alerting, and just reading this little ditty. As always, any Spanish is courtesy of Google Translate. Enjoy the epilogue. With love, ~*CMW2*~

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

Sonya's POV (Age 17)

As I moved through the school library stacks, I was aware of someone two shelves over shadowing me. Even though they managed to duck out of sight when I glanced their way, I could hear their breathing and the scuffle of dress shoes on the linoleum. The only reason that I didn't lash out immediately was that my survivor sense was silent. When someone with malicious intent comes near me, I immediately feel sick to my stomach and my vision sharpens, watching the person (or people) closely for an attack. Since things were normal, I decided to see who this person was and what they wanted. It could just be a lost freshman or the librarian.

Although, knowing my luck, it's probably an idiot boy, dared by all his muchachos to try and ask me out. I'm known as "Everest" to the boys in my class: cold, deadly, and a real triumph to climb, if you get what I mean. I had earned the nickname in 4th grade when Juan Lopez had popped my bra strap (my 38C bra strap…) during Arts and Crafts. Not only did I end up breaking his right arm, I smashed his shitty little Amazon diorama over his fat head. I ended up getting suspended for a month and banned from the playground for the rest of the year but the message was clear.

Do not fuck with Sonya Plum-Manoso. Not only is her dad scary, she is too. My reputation only grew as I joined the district karate team in 6th grade. Martial arts has always been a part of my life, right up there with science, music and my respect (read: obsession) for Black Widow. So, when I had demonstrated my skills by smashing through a cinderblock Julie-style, I was the go-to kid to earn victories. For three glorious years, I was left in peace to pursue my studies and just be seen as "one of the guys" from the boys brave enough to befriend me.

Everything changed when I started high school and was required to wear a uniform that fits. You know the one from the Prep School Movies: little gray skirt, white blouse, maroon cardigan and knee socks…we even have to wear black Mary Janes and a stupid little bow tie. Now, due to my Cuban roots (thanks a lot, Papi…), I'm…endowed. While my mother has modest curves, I have Curves with a capital C. My bust at the time was a 33DD (they've gotten a little bigger, unfortunately) and I have what is fondly referred to as a bubble butt. As in an Italian/Hungarian/Cuban Nicki Minaj bubble butt. Yeah…

Since then, the natives have been restless and there was a "secret" pool of who would eventually get me on my back, ankles in the air. I've had hastily scrawled notes stuck in my locker, Facebook stalkers, Tumblr stalkers, boys bringing me flowers and chocolate, and one crazy guy had even tried to strip serenade me at 3AM. Needless to say, my father opening the window with his old M-16 trained on his head without ears cut the show short. Well, shorter...

But, I digress. Main Idea: whoever this is following me today could be the latest idiot and I plan to deal with said idiot post haste. I have AP Bio to do…

Silently, I moved out to the main area and came up in front of my pursuer. While the school rules prohibited my usual taser and razor blade, they said nothing about the can of bear spray I had fished out of my messenger's bag. Quick as lightning, I kicked the guy's legs out from under him and pointed the can unwaveringly between his eyes.

"What do you want?" I demanded brusquely.

The forest green eyes widened and the boy's hands raised immediately, a gesture of surrender. When I placed the boy, I relaxed. His name is Gabriel Menendez, a recent arrival from Bogotá. His family moved to Miami over the summer and he had been in Drumline with me on Quads. He spoke very little English and was naturally quiet. The only reason I knew he could speak at all was that he counted his set steps in Spanish under his breath next to me as we performed. He had short black hair and his skin was a deep shade of mocha, reminding me of my favorite truffles. He stood at 5'9, the same as I did, and was built like a compact car, not even a bit of extraneous fat on him. Why did I know this? Gabriel had a lovely tendency to lose his shirt as rehearsals rolled on…and pour water over his head. Mmmm...did I mention that he reminds me of my favorite dessert?

"¿Se va a apagar mi, Sonya?" he inquired with a small half smile. ("Are you going to douse me, Sonya?")

Clearing my throat, I put my spray back in my bag and sat down carefully in front of him.

"Por supuesto que no, Gabriel. Pero usted debe saber mejor que tratar de sorprender a mí por ahora.", I replied with an annoyed roll of my blue eyes("Of course not, Gabriel. But you should know better than to try and sneak up on me by now.")

"Lo siento por asombrosas que usted. Yo no estaba tratando de sorprender a usted. Yo estaba tratando de tener el coraje para pedirle que baile el viernes." ("I am sorry for startling you. I was not trying to sneak up on you. I was trying to work up the courage to ask you to the dance on Friday.")

"¿Qué danza?" ("What dance?")

"La pelota otoño. ¿No han notado los signos o los anuncios?" ("The fall ball. Have you not noticed the signs or the announcements?")

"En realidad no. He estado muy ocupado tratando de ponerse al día en mi clase de biología. Me enfermé en el peor momento posible. El fin de la tarjeta de marca es en menos de un mes." ("Not really. I have been busy trying to catch up in my biology class. I got sick at the worst possible time. The end of the card marking is in less than a month.")

"Sonya, no tienes nada de qué preocuparse." ("Sonya, you have nothing to worry about.")

People always said that to me when I fretted about my grades. I've been considered smart by people since 2nd grade when I was reading Langston Hughes for comprehension instead of See Spot Run. A formal IQ test placed me at 175 but I never tried to play the "child prodigy" card. I work as hard as or even harder than my classmates and I'm certainly not good at everything. Other than martial arts and marching band, I suck at sports. I'm always picked last during gym class. Math is a bitch and a half to screw with and I don't bother much with it outside of science purposes. Yet, when Gabriel said what he said, I knew he wasn't trying to kiss my ass or tear me down. He honestly thought I was capable. It was…nice.

"Hasta que consiga mi boleta de calificaciones con buenas calificaciones, me voy a preocupar. Espera... ¿por qué me preguntas a la danza? Pensé que ya tendría una fecha." ("Until I get my report card with passing grades, I am going to worry. Wait...why are you asking me to the dance? I figured you would already have a date.")

His cheeks took on a pinkish tinge and he looked down at his untied laces like they were the most fascinating things in the world.

"Quiero ir con usted. Usted es inteligente y amable. Tú eres mi amigo que le tengo confianza. Me gustaría que mi primera experiencia de baile americano de secundaria con usted.", he confessed softly…sweetly. ("I want to go with you. You are intelligent and kind. You are my friend that I trust. I would like to experience my first American high school dance with you.")

Wow. He considers me his friend? I didn't know that. Well, I kind of knew it. We ended up paired up a lot at Band Camp in companionable silence and we shared lunch together frequently. People didn't do that with people that they didn't consider friends. And the first thing that came to his mind about my attributes wasn't my rack but my mind. That definitely works in his favor but…

"Bueno...no tengo un boleto. ¿No están las plazas cubiertas?" I hedged. ("Well...I don't have a ticket. Aren't they sold out?")

"Compré dos.", he replied flatly. ("I bought two.")

"No tengo un vestido." I tried again. ("I don't have a dress.")

"Usted no necesita uno. Es semi-formal en el gimnasio. Usted no tiene que salir a comprar algo de fantasía." ("You don't need one. It is semi formal in the gym. You don't have to go out and buy something fancy.")

This guy had an answer for everything! Okay, then. Time to bust out the Deal Breaker…

"Vas a tener que pedirle a mi padre." ("You're going to have to ask my father.")

"Muy bien. ¿Dónde puedo encontrarlo?" he replied as easily as he would accept an offered cookie. ("Very well. Where can I find him?")

Excuse me while I fish my jaw out of my cleavage.

"¿Usted... usted no tiene miedo de enfrentarse a mi padre? Otros muchachos están.", I asked slowly. ("You...you are not afraid of facing my father? Other boys are.")

His amused aura faded into complete seriousness and I swallowed as he looked me dead in the eye.

"Yo no soy como los otros niños…Yo soy un hombre." ("I am not like other boys. I am a man."), he declared with soft steel.

Damn right, he is. A very fine man…oh, jeez…

"La cena es a las 6:30. Ya sabes donde vivo desde la libreta de direcciones banda.", I supplied while looking away first. ("Dinner is at 6:30. You know where I live from the band address book.")

"Te veré a las 6:15." ("I will see you at 6:15.")

/

Stephanie's POV

"Hey, you three! I'm back from the mar…Carlos, what the hell are you doing?"

"Cleaning a shotgun." he replied cheerfully from the dining room table.

"Since when did you get a shotgun?"

"I've always had a shotgun, Babe. I just didn't bother bringing it home until princesa decided to bring home a boyfriend."

"Papi, it's not like that!"

"He wants to take you on a date, Sonya and you invited him here to dinner." Francis Carlos pointed out between missions in Call of Duty 100...

"To the crappy school dance that I didn't even know about until today, Frankie! And I only invited him to try and scare him off! It's worked before…"

"Irrelevant and I notice that you didn't deny that it's a date!" the 14 year old volleyed back with a shit eating on his face.

I couldn't help but laugh as Sonya dropped her head in her hands. While she may look like a Manoso, she has emotions like a Plum. She may be saying that it's not a big deal but she was certainly dressed like it was a big deal. She had on a light orange v-neck top and the dark blue Gypsy skirt that she normally reserved for dancing at parties. She had let her hair down into the crazy curls she had inherited from me and her eyes were heavily shadowed. Mascara was my bravery makeup and smoky eyes were hers…

"Can I kill him?"

"No.", Carlos and I replied in unison, this conversation common.

"Please? You guys can have an open casket and everything…"

"No, he's family."

"You offer to kill Tio Lester all the time."

"And that's the answer your Abuelita always gives me. You can't kill your brother. You can go put away the groceries, though."

Sonya sighed and nodded, taking the groceries from me.

"I'll try to make him put away the gun before your boyfriend gets here!" I called into the kitchen.

"Mom!" she whined over the boys' laughter. Dropping a kiss on The Latino Gamer's head as I passed, I joined Carlos at the table. He's aged quite well. The laugh lines make him look even more distinguished and his hair's pure silver, cut to the tops of his ears. He was still rock hard in all the right places and still a horny bastard. How we only ended up with two kids is still a bit of a mystery to me. And I didn't look half bad, either. Even after 2 kids, a C-section scar, and going gray myself, I could still turn heads on the street. The only head I cared about was bowed as he expertly put the gun back together…

"Are you seriously going to keep this big honking boomstick out while he's here?"

"Yes."

I figured he'd say that but I still had to try.

"Aw, come on, Carlos. If this guy was a prick, Sonya wouldn't let him get anywhere near her and you know it."

"You can never be too careful, Babe. I remember what it's like being a 17 year old boy and all I focused on with women was how to get them naked and moaning underneath me."

"You're still like that with me, Batman."

"No. I'm open to you being on top of me."

"Uh, yeah…eeew…" Frankie groaned as he walked past us in search of a Gatorade refill.

"That's how you got here. Did you finish your algebra?" Carlos asked him.

"Yeah, dad."

"Is it right?"

"Nope!" he replied cheerfully as he returned to his game.

"If you fail Algebra, I'm going run that thing over with the Turbo."

"Noted. Oooh…Sonya's novio is here…" he sing-songed while swaying his arms like a Kraken from the sea.

With a manic grin that would make the late great Grandma Mazur proud, Carlos cocked the gun and stood up. I shoved him gently back into his chair and watched as Sonya waited at the stairs. She was bouncing on her toes nervously and Frankie started mimicking her dramatically.

"Look, you little maniac, mom and dad said that I couldn't kill you! They said nothing about maiming!" she snarled while throwing a shoe at his head. It hit its mark and Frankie sat down in a light sulk, nursing his right temple.

The doorbell ringing made her squeak and Carlos tightened the grip on his gun as she looked at him beseechingly.

"Papi, please don't shoot him. He…he's not my boyfriend but I really like him and…just don't, okay? Not without reason…"

"Not without reason." he agreed.

I knew as soon as she opened the door that there would be no problems. Gabriel was visibly shaking as he held a bouquet of flowers and a homemade fruit tray. Sonya accepted his offerings gracefully and extended a hand to him.

"Mom, Dad, Frankie…this is Gabriel. Gabriel, mi familia…" she introduced with a Vanna White hand.

"Hola.", he greeted shyly. "No hablo ingles. N-not really…12 Gauge?"

"Si.", Carlos remarked neutrally.

"Boomstick. Good for hunting…" he replied.

Carlos looked at him and then put the gun down to shake his hand.

Oh yeah. Gabriel's gonna fit right in around here…

FIN.