((Contains references to addiction and adult situations.)) _________________________

Michael had been in and out of consciousness for a few days, the medical staff keeping him as comfortable as possible, until he seemed able to handle what was left of his ordeal with alcohol abuse. Every day, little by little, he was getting stronger, more aware of his surroundings, able to stay awake a little longer. By the third day, he'd asked for paper and pen and had started scribbling an outline - the start of a new story. Apparently, when the alcohol had sweated its way out of his body, his inspiration had somehow miraculously returned. He recalled some of what had happened, of some strange visit with a woman claiming to be his muse, but he wasn't sure if it had been real or only a dream. Either way, it didn't seem to matter. He had an idea for a story, and he had Elena to thank for saving him, in more ways than one. This morning found him awake and alert, with a full breakfast in front of him - scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, coffee - and a sheaf of papers at his side.

He'd managed to convince Elena to go home and get some proper sleep, too, despite her objections. Thus, she hadn't been there when he'd woken that morning, only just now getting to the hospital after presenting herself at the local Watch House, as per Mataya's agreement with the Earth authorities. As Michael grew stronger, Elena grew brighter, which no doubt accounted for how fresh she seemed as she all but bounced into his room that morning, not even waiting to shed her jacket and scarf before she was leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. "Look at you, all bright and scribbly," she declared with a smile, unhooking the wool from about her neck as she looked him over. "Feeling better?"

He finished chewing on a slice of bacon, swallowing it down and smiling up at her. He'd even managed to get out of bed and get a real shower, refusing the aide's offer of a spong bath, though he was still wearing one of those hated hospital gowns that left his a$$ hanging out whenever he got up to take a leak. He whistled appreciatively as he looked her over, as bright as sunshine, which he hadn't seen in a few days either, except through a hospital room window. "A little better every day." He turned his cheek into her lips, his face cool and free of fever. "Sleep well" You look amazing."

She twirled for him, thanks to his appreciative whistle, shucking off her jacket to drop it on the chair before insinuating herself onto the bed with him, as had become her habit. "Yeah, I slept pretty well," she agreed warmly. "Had to go and present myself to the Watch this morning, that's why I'm late. But hey, at least they know I haven't done a runner, right?" She flashed him her bright smile, stealing a slice of his toast with shamelessly playful cheek. "Oh, and Max got some of your stuff sent over from Boston," she added belatedly, gesturing to the bag that was now decorating the floor. "Most importantly, panties."

There was a lot there for him to react to, not the least of which was her mention of the Watch. He didn't completely understand how things worked in Rhy'Din yet, but he seemed to get that the Watch was sort of this place's police force or something like that. He let the mention of the Watch go and the hint that she was under probation or out on bail or some such thing that he hadn't completely wrapped his head around yet, due to the brain fog that was finally starting to clear. "Panties?" he asked, arching dark brows skeptically. "I don't wear panties, Elena. I wear underwear. And what was Max doing poking around my apartment?" He wondered just how much poking around the guy had done while there on the excuse that he had to pick up a few extra changes of clothing. "Women wear panties," he added helpfully.

"Um ....'Taya asked him to see if he could get some of your belongings sent over here," Elena offered warily. "You know, because you didn't have anything when you arrived. And, uh, well, I couldn't do it or I'd have done it, and he didn't go himself. I think he got your landlady to pack some stuff for you and send it." She shrugged one shoulder, smiling at his helpful addendum. "All right, then, underpants. I know women wear panties. Wanna see mine?" Her fingers twitched toward the hem of her dress teasingly for a moment as her smile sparkled.

He huffed at the offer, which was pretty tempting. He wasn't trying to be irascible; he was mostly teasing, though the thought of a stranger going through his stuff made him feel just a little violated or something, but it let it go. They were just trying to help, after all, and his wardrobe left a lot to be desired. "I'd show you mine, but I'm not wearing any," he remarked with a smirk as he took up a slice of toast and spread some jam across it.

"I could help you put some on with my eyes shut, and then you could show me," she suggested playfully, chewing on her own pilfered toast as her gaze flickered down to the sheaf of hand-written notes on the table beside his tray. "How's the plotting going?" she asked, curious - all right, dying to know what he was writing about, but somehow managing to keep that in check.

He took a bite of the toast with a half-shrug, as if the fact that he was writing again was not a big deal, which, of course, it was. "It's going. I've written more in the last day than I've written in months. I think there might be a story there. I won't know 'til I get a more of it on paper." He frowned a little, missing his laptop, knowing he was eventually going to have to type everything that he'd written long-hand. But writing the long way seemed to have sparked something in him, though he wasn't sure why. "I'm not ready to let anyone read it yet," he warned, knowing she'd ask to take a peek sooner or later.

She lifted her eyes, the toast hanging from her teeth as she whipped both hands behind her back, somehow summoning a blushing smile at having been caught trying to read his scrawl upside down. "Vorry," she mumbled through her mouthful, lifting a hand back to her mouth to pull the toast free and chew. "I'm glad you're writing again. Even I'm not allowed to peek."

"I just want to make sure it's worth reading before you read it, El," he explained with a small frown. Like most writers, he was far more critical of his own work than anyone else was, but he wanted to make sure he wasn't wasting his time with this story before he wasted anyone else's. "Just give me a couple of days, okay?" he asked, expression hopeful and surprisingly trusting. Whatever had happened to him since he'd arrived in Rhy'Din seemed to have knocked the chip from his shoulder, his mood mellow and a little bit uncertain of his own future.

She echoed his frown mildly before letting the expression ease away into a gentle smile for him, reaching over to brush the pad of her thumb over his chin. "Baby, you take all the time you need," she told him. "I think my copy of Boston Nights has still got a few reads left in it before it totally falls apart." She winked at him, finishing off her stolen toast cheerfully. "Hey, did they say when they're letting you out of this loony bin?"

He rolled his eyes at her remark, though her touch stilled his doubts. "Aren't you sick of that thing by now" It's about damned time I write something else before I become a one-hit wonder, don't you think?" He finished off his own toast, reaching for the glass of orange juice, pausing a moment before taking a sip. It seemed strange to be drinking orange juice straight without any vodka. For a moment, the old familiar craving set in, but it passed almost as quickly. "I'll never look at orange juice the same again," he remarked, partly to her, who more than anyone, had to understand what he was feeling. "Another day or so, I guess. They want to set me up with a therapist before I go." He scowled a little at the thought of that. "Did you join a group?"

She shook her head. "No, I wasn't suitable for group therapy," she admitted a little awkwardly. "It's only in the last couple of weeks that my therapist has even suggested I join Rhy'Din's AA. Because I'm not so aggressive now." She smiled faintly, watching as he seemed to eye his glass suspiciously, understanding the feeling that came with that. Even better, she knew he could resist that craving now without the physiological insistence that he needed it. "You're not a one-hit wonder, either. Most guys don't get published until they're in their forties. You've got the time, trust me."

"At least, you believe in me. Now I just have to believe in myself," he remarked, setting the glass down and picking at his eggs. "So, what happens when I get out of here?" he asked, unsure if he was still welcome in her little basement suite or if he should find a place of his own or try to find his way back to Boston. "I think I need an Idiot's Guide to Rhy'Din," he said, only half-joking. "I don't think I got off to a very good start with your sister."

"Oh, 'Taya wrote one of those," Elena chuckled softly. "Most of the staff at her theater came from Earth, so she wrote up this forty-page thesis on Rhy'Din. I can probably get you a copy, if you like." She grinned, twisting to lie across his legs lightly. "And, uh ....you're welcome to come back home with me. Very welcome. All three of them have made a point of saying that to me." She nodded slowly, amused and touched by the effort the trio back at Weatbourne Avenue were making. "I'd like you to come back with me, but, uh, I totally get it if you'd rather not. I just, I can't move out. Not until the court case is over. It was part of the deal that's keeping me out of jail."

And thus the challenge was accepted. With a slow, sultry chuckle, she rose from the bed, moving to close the door. Leaning back against it, she turned the lock with an audible click, her smile all manner of suggestive as she looked over at him. "You know," she mused, making her way back toward the bed and her temporarily captive lover, "anyone would think you were a little afraid of me having my wicked way with you, baby."

"Afraid?" he asked, his pitch lifting an octave or so. "I'm not afraid. Not of you. I'm afraid of Nurse Ratched having my head." Wait. That wasn't right. It was Elena who was going to have his head. He furrowed his brows, looking slightly confused or maybe just a wee bit flustered. "If I get in trouble, I'm blaming you," he warned, giving her the once over with his eyes, which did nothing for his self control.

"I have happy news for you," she teased, easing the cart-table away from the bed to lean over him with an enticing grin. "She's not in today." Her nose brushed his tenderly, her breath ghosting against his lips, and a moment later, her mouth had captured his in the kiss she'd been impatiently waiting to give and receive since he'd woken up. One hand crept up to cradle his jaw as she coaxed his lips to part, tasting him as much as he would allow. "God, I've missed you, baby. So much."

He almost rose off the bed to meet her as she bent over him and brushed her nose against his, breathing her in, stirring his desire further, almost to the point of torment. He leaned back against the pillows as her lips met his, groaning into her kiss, lips parting to taste her. She took his breath away and with it, his voice, his heart pounding in his chest. Now that he was sober, without any alcohol haze clouding his mind, he wanted her even more than ever. And this he knew without doubt was real. "I want you," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled against his lips, shifting up to kneel on the bed beside him, pressing kiss after slow kiss to his mouth as her hands began to gently, lovingly, trail down over his chest. "I want you," she murmured to him, nipping teasingly at his lower lip. "But I gotta be patient. This is about you, baby, not me."

"You're driving..." He paused between kisses. "...me crazy." His eyes drifted closed, as he savored her kisses, his body rising to the occasion, already too far gone for comfort. There was no turning back now. Either way, he was going to have to do something to relieve his distress or go stark raving mad.

"Well, it's about time I returned the favor," she smirked gently, easing the blankets back from his hips to seek out the hem of that indecent hospital gown. Her fingers ghosted over his thighs, guiding the thin material upward until he was uncovered, though not once did she stop kissing him. "You ....you ready?" she asked, not wanting to startle him too much with cold hands unless he was braced for it.

He wasn't sure he'd ever be really ready for her. It all seemed like some crazy dream, though he knew it was real. Some crazy dream come true, but it wasn't just about the sex - as amazing as it was - it was about belonging to someone, belonging to her, belonging to each other. "El..." he breathed, nearly holding his breath, feeling like his heart was beating so hard it would burst clear out of his chest. He was as ready as he was ever going to be, and the thought of doctors and nurses scuttling along the hallway just outside his door only made his need for relief that much more urgent. "Please..." he whispered, pleading with her not to tease him any longer.

He didn't need to plead with her. As her lips left his, trailing soft, tender kisses down along the line of his jaw, into the crook and hollow of his neck, her hands found their destination, learning how to touch him as she stroked and teased, urging him higher. She wanted to do this for him - had wanted to do it since he'd reacted to her touch even while unconscious - but she had a pretty definite idea of what she was going to allow. Edging backward, it was not long before her lips replaced her fingers, leaving the task of keeping himself quiet entirely up to Michael.

He thought he'd felt pleasure before, but never quite like this. Not even when he was sixteen and Jenna, the school slut, gave him his very first blow job and essentially stole his virginity, did he ever feel quite like this. He let out a long lazy sigh as her hands found him, savoring her touch which was just the right mix of gentle and firm. He thought he'd died and gone to heaven, but then her hands fell away and he heard himself groan in dismay, only to find her mouth had replaced her hands, warm and confident and seeming to know without his asking just what he wanted, just what he needed to relieve his distress. He arched his back, fingers clawing at the bedsheets as she drew him ever higher until he could hold back no longer. A knock came at the door, a muffled voice calling to them on the other side, but he ignored it, too far gone to turn back now.

Skills learned while drunk certainly got a better reaction when practiced sober, Elena was learning as she coaxed and teased, urging her lover as high as he could go, ready to catch him when he fell with warm arms and soft kisses. She couldn't recall having enjoyed doing this quite so much before, reflecting that her mama was probably right - it truly wasn't so much the act, as the partner. The knock at the door made her efforts redouble, not wanting to get him in too much trouble with his carers, easing him past the threshold and into what lay beyond.

It wasn't easy holding back the groan that accompanied his eventual release, rising up and over the pinnacle with an almost violent shudder and a deep sigh of breath, clutching the sheets in balled up fists, eyes squeezed tightly closed. He had to bite his bottom lip to keep himself from crying out, from moaning her name, from letting any hint slip of what was really going on behind that locked door. Another knock was heard at the door, more frantic this time, and part of him knew they'd find a key before long if they didn't answer, but another part of him didn't care. His eyes slid slowly open and he looked to her, blue eyes shining suspiciously, realizing at last that she really did love him. "Elena..." he whispered softly, his heart still beating hard in his chest.

"Nothing says 'I love you' like wrapping your mouth around your man's manliness, huh?" she smirked softly, gently covering him up once again, leaning over to press a last kiss to his lips. "You owe me," she whispered, green eyes sparkling with sweetly playful anticipation as she drew the table-tray back over his lap, moving to straighten up. "Okay, just a sec," she called to whoever was on the other side of the door, winking at Michael. "Prepared to own up to making the most of me, baby?"

He sighed again as he leaned back against the pillows, feeling as content as a kitten. He just may have found a new addiction and her name was Elena. "Just tell them I was indisposed or something," he said, further adjusting the tray over his lap so that it wasn't too obvious what they'd been up to. He picked up his fork, but eggs had gone cold and were no longer appealing.

"Well, that's one way of describing a quick trip to heaven and back," she laughed, moving back toward the door. "Or didn't I quite get you there this time around?" She flashed him a very cheeky wink over her shoulder, and unlocked the door, pulling it open with a perfectly innocent smile. "I'm really sorry about that," she apologized, the actress in her producing the perfect shamefaced expression through her smile. "I, uh ....Well, it's been a long time since we made out properly. I got a little carried away."

"Oh, I think I came pretty close." He chuckled at his own joke. "Get it' Came?" He returned her wink with a grin of his own, his mood shifting yet again, lightening from the gloom of just a few minutes earlier. She loved him. She really loved him. He sighed again, smiling to himself. Nothing was going to ruin this day. Not even Nurse Ratched or whatever her real name was.

The aide who stood outside the door with a hand held up as if he was just about to knock again furrowed his brows and glanced past Elena into the room behind her. "I'm just here to collect his breakfast tray, miss." His expression was one of mild curiosity. It wasn't the first time he'd encountered such a situation, but it was rare and always just a little bit awkward.

She sighed, rolling her eyes a little wearily. "Baby, you just spent three days unconscious and I stuck around," she pointed out to him. "You really think I'm that precious about being the center of attention that I'd up and walk out because you were working" Look, I know we don't know each other very well yet, and sure, there are gonna be bumps." She paused, trying to think of how she could convince him of what she was saying. "I don't just love you, Michael. I need you. For a while there, I thought I was going to lose you and everything came crashing down on me. I couldn't imagine, I can't imagine another day of my life without you, even if you ignore me or never speak to me ever again. Just let me be near you, and I'll be happy. I don't know how else to explain it, except ....I need you."

He listened quietly, taking in every word she was saying, and once again, he was faced with a decision. He could make a leap of faith and believe her or not. After all that they'd been through together, after all that she'd done for him, it was really a no-brainer. She owed him nothing, and there was no reason why she needed to stay with him or take care of him or tell him she loved him, except for one, and that was simply that somehow, through some miracle, she had fallen in love with him. It was almost more than he could grasp, more than he could hope for, more than he could handle. There was nothing more to say really, not right now, except for one thing that she needed to know unequivocally and that he needed to tell her, even if she'd heard it before. "I love you," he told her, his fingers easing into her hair as he pulled her closer for a kiss, his lips meeting her with warm affection.

She almost purred into his mouth, the words spoken from sober lips with such strength of will behind them bringing a delicate frisson of delight to traverse the length of her spine as she leaned into him, taking his kiss and returning it with as much affection as it offered. "I know," she whispered against his lips, twisted halfway toward him on the narrow bed, enough to curl her fingers into his hair as they traded loving kisses, heedless of anything but him.

His kisses melted into hers, one after the other, and as tired and weak as he was, he found his body responding to her all over again. "You should..." He kissed her again. "...lock the..." Yet another kiss. "...door," he finished, his lips close to hers, craving more kisses. He didn't think he could ever get enough.

Elena didn't think Michael quite got how much influence he had on her. It wasn't just a physical feeling, though that was strong and clear, as difficult to ignore as a genuine fire. It built from inside, deep in her heart, spreading outward until it consumed all of her. And those kisses didn't hurt, either. She utterly failed to stifle a soft moan against his lips as he warned her between kisses, her smile curving beneath the onslaught of affection. "Already ..." Kiss. "....did."

He couldn't help but wonder what he'd done wrong the first time around, but whatever it was, he seemed to be doing everything right this time. Or maybe it hadn't been him, after all. Maybe it had been her, like she'd said. Whatever the case, the past was behind them and though he had no idea what the future held, he wasn't letting go of her so easily this time. He melted once again at her kisses, sinking back into the pillows, letting whatever was going to happen, happen. It had happened the first time in her bathtub almost by accident, both of them unable to hold back, and it seemed that same passion still flared between them, stronger than ever. He halted the kissing just long enough to come up for air and take a breath, his hand sliding back under her skirt and up against her thigh. "Well, what are we waiting for then?"

She shivered under his touch, the questing confidence that had been lacking from their past couplings seeming to strike match against the embers of her own passion, her own desire, making a mockery of her attempts to behave herself and keep from tiring him too much. "You call this waiting?" she asked with a faint smirk, easing her hands up behind his neck to undo the ties holding his hospital gown in place. "Are you sure, baby' I ....I don't want to make you too tired again."

"I'm pretty sure," he replied with a smile. At least, one part of his anatomy was more than willing to participate, even if the rest of him was still a little too weak and weary to make a proper effort. He'd make it up to her later, when he was finally out of here. Besides, wasn't this the best medicine there was" It would help him relax and was a surefire remedy for sleeplessness, better than any sedative at this point in his recovery. "I'm gonna get addicted to you," he remarked, as she removed his ridiculously silly hospital gown.

"Better than being addicted to anything else," she murmured against his lips, tossing the silly gown aside to fall onto the floor. Her lips quirked teasingly against his as her hands resumed their warm exploration of his torso, lovingly remembering where and how to touch as her mouth teased kisses from his. "Just how naked do you want me, hmm?"

He sighed against her lips, as her hands moved over him in loving exploration. There was little doubt in his mind anymore that she loved him, or at very least wanted him, and who was he to argue with that' "How naked do you want to be?" he asked, unworried about being interrupted now that Elena had given the aide a piece of her mind. Still, there were doctors and nurses coming in to check on him fairly regularly, and he knew they had a limited amount of time and privacy.

"Well, the door's locked," she mused between kisses, reluctantly slipping her hands from his skin to begin peeling her dress upward, revealing the deep burgundy and ivory satin and lace that cupped her best assets so snugly. She knelt on the bed to do this, close to looming over him as the dress rose over her head, a slender invitation to touch while her hands were otherwise engaged and unable to distract him once again.

He needed no invitation, his hands moving as if by their own accord to touch the enticing curves of the woman he had fallen in love with. It was almost like the first time all over again, as he traced the gentle curve of her breasts, discovering her without the haze of alcohol withdrawal to muddy his mind. "God, you're beautiful," he mused in wonder of her. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed or even commented on her beauty, but he was seeing her now with fresh eyes, the eyes of a lover, not just one of many admirers.

Her dress fell away, revealing a face touched with soft pleasure, genuine pleasure, at his compliment. Though he had said it before, never had he said it sober. Beauty wasn't something often associated with her; rather people called her pretty, or cute, not as beautiful as Mataya nor as striking as Tess. But Michael thought she was beautiful. Her skin tingled beneath his hands, a sweep of gooseflesh following his touch as she moved to straddle him, settling close enough to loop her arms about his neck, drawing him into another soft, deep kiss. "So're you," she whispered fervently to him, unable to keep herself from trembling in his arms as she kissed him.

Beautiful wasn't a word he'd ever associate with himself, and certainly not something he'd expect to hear from anyone else, including Elena. He was his own worst enemy, constantly criticizing himself and finding himself unworthy. The praise heaped on his first novel meant very little to him now, feeling as though he would never be taken seriously again until he matched or topped that feat. He'd thought himself worthless and unworthy for so long it came as a surprise to hear praise of any kind from anyone, including her, whom he believed saw him through rose-colored glasses, as it were. He knew she wasn't seeing him at his best, and yet, she seemed to like what she was seeing, and he only hoped he could continue to please as time went on. As for the present, there was little left to say, and he surrendered himself completely to her affections, returning her kisses with equal fervor, hands moving over her in slow and gentle discovery.

Perhaps it was an odd choice of venue for this rediscovery of one another, a hospital room, a hospital bed, but there was a sense of impatience that they shared. Until he was home again with her, such moments as this were unlikely to be repeated, but the need was there, a need to taste and touch and feel, to come together and acknowledge that it wasn't purely lust, it wasn't purely craving. It was the first blossoming of shared love that held them so close together, that shed the last of her clothing and pressed bodies together in so snug a fit that they could have been made to be together. As kisses and tenderness flared and rose, Elena gave herself over to Michael, letting him set the pace, the energy, the atmosphere, submitting entirely for the first time without reservation to a man she was certain she loved more than anything.

"Scrummy?" He laughed. "That's not a real word, Elena," the writer in his remarked. "Is that a compound word made up of scrumptious and yummy?" he asked with an amused gleam in his eyes as he pulled the shirt over his head, which declared he was a fan of the band Boston, or else he just liked the shirt because he was from Boston. He dug around in the bag for a pair of pants that were comfortable enough to lounge in.

"Hey, it works for me," she chuckled cheerfully, glad to have coaxed a laugh from him once again. "Would you rather be uberlicious" Or scrumdiddlyumptious" Or maybe you'd like me to call you absoposilutively f*ckable?" Her smile was sweet and innocent, and very aware that this little bit of bluntness was likely to be a shock.

He rolled his eyes. "Only in private," he replied, mostly in reference to her final suggestion. That's all he needed was to get a reputation for that, though he was hardly sure it mattered. He noticed her glance at what he'd started scribbling on paper and wondered if she'd managed to read any of it. "It's....uh....not really ready for mass consumption yet, but if you want to take a peek, I wouldn't mind an honest opinion." Why he was offering now when a few hours ago, he'd warned her not to so much as glance at it was beyond him, but there it was. He needed someone's opinion, after all, and it might as well be hers. "Don't be too harsh. I have a fragile ego," he warned as he yanked on a pair of sweat pants and tied them at the front. On the other hand, he didn't want her to be too easy on him either. He needed to know if the story was worth pursuing or not.

The excitement showed in her eyes when he made that offer, though Elena had no real faith in her own ability to tell whether or not a story was any good. Though she had been very good at selecting scripts, it had been a while, and she worried that her talent there had deserted her. "Are you sure?" she asked, one hand already twitching toward the short stack of paper. "I'm no expert, Michael, it would just be my opinion. And my opinion might not be right."

"You're an actress. You know a good story when you see it. I trust your judgement," he replied without any delay or reluctance. "If you hate it, everyone else will hate it, too." He padded barefooted over to the door to unlock it, but left it closed, allowing them some small amount of privacy. "I'm..." he pointed to the door that led to the private bath. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice, more than likely at the prospect of allowing someone to read something he'd written for the first time in forever.

She nodded gently, sensing the nerves that had begun to plague him as he moved away. "I'll be here," she promised him through her smile, waiting until he was out of sight before taking the little stack into her hands, turning it to begin devouring the words written there.

He wasn't gone long, just long enough for her to read a few pages. The sound of the toilet flushing, followed by running water as he washed up and tried to refresh himself a little. He glanced at himself in the mirror, frowning a little at the face that looked back at him. Though he looked better than he had a few days ago, he thought he still looked a little too pale and slightly gaunt, but the light was back in his eyes now that he'd decided to live.

As Michael made use of the facilities, Elena curled up on his bed, lying on her side, her head propped on her hand as she let herself absorb the outline and beginning that had been scribbled down in his distinctive handwriting. Whether it was good or not, she didn't think she was qualified to say. What she had found almost immediately was how quickly she had been sucked into the story he had begun to write, however rough it was at present. She wanted to know more, turning over the pages to find out, close to oblivious to the rest of the room as she did so.

God, he wanted a drink, especially now that Elena was no longer distracting him and he wasn't distracting himself with his writing. He felt that old fear of failure setting in, worried she'd hate the story, or at the very least, not understand it. It was very different from anything he'd ever written before, partially based on his experiences in Rhy'Din, enough so that she'd more than likely recognize the similarities. He struggled against the nervous knots in his stomach, telling himself that he had nothing to fear. If the story sucked, he'd just revise it or scrap it and start over. The one thing he didn't want was her lying to him. If the story held no potential, then he needed to know before he got dragged into it further and it became yet another colossal waste of time. He threw some water over his face and gulped down a handful before patting his face dry and emerging from the bathroom with a wary glance toward her.

She presented him with an encouraging view as he emerged, completely absorbed in the prose before her, the softness of her expression sharpened into intelligent interest as she moved through the beginnings of a tale that was so very different from what he had written before. As she came to the end of what was written, she paused, turning over the page hopefully, genuinely disappointed there was no more. Her eyes lifted to his. "No more yet?"

"Not yet," he replied with an uncertain frown. "I'm not sure how it's going to go yet." That was true for both fact and fiction, real life and the story. He was going with the flow, writing it as it came to him. It was a very different process that what he was normally accustomed to, everything carefully planned and plotted out well in advance. "I'm kind of waiting to see where the story takes me, if that makes sense." It didn't occur to him that this was all the muse's doing, though she was only inspiring him really, not actually writing the words for him.

"Well, I'm no expert, like I said," she mused, pushing herself to sit up, her intelligence sparked into life by the writing in her hand, by his wish to know what she thought. "But I want to read more. Obviously the style needs a little cleaning up, but this only a first draft. You can polish later." Hazel green eyes rose to meet his, smiling at the uncertainty in his gaze. "Let the story tell itself through you. Even if nothing comes of it, it'll be good for you. But ....I would buy this."

"Really?" He brightened a little as he made his way toward her to settle himself beside her on the bed. It felt good to get up and move around a little, but even that small effort had left him shaky and weak. "It's....different from anything I've ever written before." Boston Nights had been a thriller with a touch of romance. This was a very different work, but maybe that was a good thing.

"Really," she assured him, shifting until he was comfortable and supported there on the bed, with her nestled close against his side, her legs lying over his. "These two characters feel as though they are already well rounded, despite the fact that you haven't had the chance to write in much detail. The interlude between the muse and the man ..." She laughed softly. "It made me smile. You always think of muses as being these ethereal beings without much of a personality, but your muse is so solid. She's so easy to imagine."

"Yeah," he muttered, somewhat thoughtfully. There was a reason for that, but he wasn't sure he was ready to share it. He still believed his own visit with the muse had been nothing more than a dream, a hallucination brought on by withdrawal. It had seemed real enough, though he couldn't be too sure either way. Maybe if she were to visit him again....but the very thought was preposterous, and he kept his thoughts to himself, worrying Elena would think him crazier than she already did. "So, you like it then?" he asked, uncertainly as she curled against his side and he slung an arm around her.

"Yeah, I do," she assured him with a smile, inching up until she was close and comfortable against him, wrapped under the curve of his arm. "I mean, obviously there's a lot that still needs to be done. Why is he there, wherever he is" Why is he so low he needs a muse to visit him like that' What happened to him to make him lose all faith in himself?"

"Yeah," he replied again, frowning a little, wondering if she'd realized the somewhat autobiographical nature of the story. Those were all answers he hadn't quite come up with yet or didn't want to face. He wasn't yet sure how closely he was going to stick to his own story or diverge into unknown territory. He reached over to collect the small stack of papers from her, straightening them as best he could and setting them back on the hospital table, upside down so that no one else could catch a further glance at what he'd written there before he was ready to share.

She had noticed; of course she had noticed that many of the details were similar to the details of his sudden change in circumstances. But Elena didn't want to push him into talking about it unless he chose to, knowing a little of how painful it could be to put your own life and heart into the creation of something others would see and pick apart at their leisure. Her palm curled to Michael's cheek, lips pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "When you're ready, you can explain it to your dumb blonde girlfriend."

"Don't say that about yourself, Elena. You're not dumb. Not by a long shot. I'm just..." He realized she had, in fact, gleaned more from the story that he'd originally thought. "I'm not ready to talk about it yet." Not with a therapist either, he thought with dismay. In fact, he'd rather talk about it with her, but he knew he wasn't going to have much choice in the matter. "I just want to put the past behind me and move on," he said, curling his fingers around hers.

She smiled as he realized what she had picked up from her reading, nuzzling fondly to his cheek. "To do that, you need to at least acknowledge the past," she warned him gently. "I've had to do it, and it was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But it worked. I don't ....I don't dwell on past issues anymore, because I've put them to bed. Maybe it'll work the same way for you."

"Maybe," he replied quietly. "I just....I know I have a long way to go, Elena, and I don't want to screw it up. I don't want to lose you." Though the worst of the battle might be over, the war for his sobriety and sanity waged on.

"You know what? It's gonna be tough. It's gonna feel like it's tearing you apart from the inside out," she warned him, warily honest about this particular facet of the battle he was still fighting. Her hand found his, winding her fingers between his own and holding on. "But you know what else? I'm gonna be there, every step of the way. And I promise you, any time you need it, I will put you back together again."

Michael's eyes strayed to their linked fingers - two lost souls connected by the fragile bond of their commonality. As different as they were, they understood each other. They understood each other's pain and struggle. No one else could ever understand him the way Elena did. It seemed in that moment that all the years of loneliness, of secretly pining away for her, of inner torment were all worth it. Only time would tell if they would survive, if - like the old saying went - love would conquer all. But in that moment of stark honesty, in that moment of confessions and promises, Michael found the courage and the hope to go on, to start over, to learn to live again. And it was all because of a girl he'd fallen in love with over a decade ago. It was all because of Elena De Luca, the girl of his dreams.

((Onwards and upwards for the boozy pair! :grin: As always, lots of fun, and lots of scrumdiddlyumptious thankidoodles to Michael's player!))