Topic: To Save A Life

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 08:43 EST
((Contains material pertaining to addiction, withdrawal, and adult situations.)) ____________________________

It was a typical night on the outskirts of Boston, at least for one individual. Half a bottle of booze had already been drained, and still no inspiration came. It had been four years since his first and only novel had become a best seller; four years since he'd struggled for a repeat performance. During that time, hundreds of ideas had passed through his brain, never quite making it onto paper. He wasn't hurting for money, not yet.

Royalties were still coming in from his first book, which was still selling well enough to pay the bills and put food on the table, but he was by no means well off, as could be seen from the lack of luxury which surrounded him. His apartment was nothing fancy, just a flat he rented outside of town; his only means of transportation the Harley that was his pride and joy. "The Book", as it had come to be called, was a constant reminder of what he could do if he put his mind to it. He'd been called a genius, touted as being the next Hemingway, a multitude of praise he could never quite swallow. Hemingway. There was only one. There would never be another, no matter how badly he wanted to be as great.

He'd sat at the keyboard for hours on end, hammering away at one idea or another, until he thought his brain would explode. Day after day, night after night, it was always the same, until he grew so frustrated, he thought maybe he should fall back on his thus-far useless English degree and join the masses of zombified-office workers who made their exodus to and from the city in droves every day from nine to five, or thereabouts. It wasn't the life he'd expected or wanted for himself, and whatever praise he was still getting for his one Great American Novel had long since worn thin. Lightning doesn't always strike twice, he'd been told by several publishers, a handful of manuscripts rejected and trashed. Try again. And again. And again.

Michael reached for the bottle to refill his glass for the umpteen thousandth time, it seemed, seeking inspiration at the bottom of a bottle or a glass, annoyed to find there was nothing left. When had he drained it' He couldn't remember. No matter. He checked his watch for the time. It was nearly nine o'clock. If he hurried, he'd have just enough time to make it to the local liquor store before it closed and grab another bottle of liquid gold inspiration. He shoved his fingers through his hair and grabbed his jacket, keys, and wallet, deciding to walk the two blocks to the little liquor store where the owner knew him by name. It was a hell of a lot better than having to go to a bar, where people would want to socialize. Once they found out who he was, there would be the usual barrage of questions. Michael Donnelly' The guy who wrote that best-seller a few years back" Man, I saw the movie. It was awesome. When are you gonna write another" Blah, blah, blah. It was always the same.

Just his luck, he thought as he stepped out onto the street and felt the first raindrops pelt him from above. Like liquid ice, he thought. It's going to turn to snow soon. He pulled up the collar of his leather jacket, inadequate warmth against the cold, wet rain, but he wouldn't be long. He hurried along the dark streets, his head ducked low against the raindrops that were pelting him like tiny shards of ice slicing at his head and neck. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep warm, quickening his pace, his thoughts riveted on one thing and one thing only - that bottle of amber courage. He bumped into someone, taking little notice of the jostling or the angry words shouted his way, mumbling an apology he didn't feel or mean, so he could continue on his way. When at last he finally reached his destination, it was only to find he was too late. The store had already closed, the object of his desire locked up inside, tighter than Fort Knox.

He thought about breaking in, but that would just be stupid, when he could easily find a bar that would be more than happy to fulfill his needs. He sagged in the doorway and pressed his forehead against the cold, wet glass, looking at the reflection of his own face that looked back at him. You son of a bitch. Look at what you've become. You could have made something of your life, but instead, you're nothing but a loser.

"No, I'm not," he said aloud to no one, but his own reflection. "I'm just in transition," he muttered, something he'd heard some writer friend of his once tell him when they were between novels, but that friend had found his muse and gone on to write several more, leaving Michael in the dust, alone with his misery. A writer's life is a lonely life, he'd told himself more than once, making any excuse he could for being alone. He had to focus on his craft; he couldn't afford to invest in a long-term relationship. It would only distract him, but without any love in his life, without any meaning, he'd lost all his inspiration.

He heard a distant roll of thunder as if from far off, moving closer, and he turned toward the sound of it, lifting his gaze to the sky, rain running down his face to mingle with tears he didn't even realize he was crying. He slid down the front of the door to rest on the stoop, drawing the jacket around him, his only source of warmth, soaked to the skin in the freezing rain and not even caring. How had he come to this, he thought to himself. Freezing to death and dying of exposure. It was either that or withdrawal and one was just as unpleasant a prospect as the other.

As it turned out, he wasn't going to have a chance to experience either, as a man stepped into his view, looming as large as a mountain, it seemed from his point of view. "Gimme your wallet," the man demanded, in a tone of voice that left no room for argument.

"F*ck you," Michael replied, his wallet containing the last of his cash and it was already earmarked for a fresh bottle of bourbon. "Don't make me kick your *ss," he continued, with feigned bravado or foolish arrogance. Why didn't they just leave him in peace, for God's sake"

He was no midget, tall and strapping and of Irish-Italian descent. There was a time when such a threat held substance, but that when he was sober. This was not that time, and the larger man picked him up off the ground like he weighed no more than a child and shoved him against the glass.

"I said your wallet. Give it to me or else," he threatened again, eyes flashing like firecrackers in the night. Or was it the lightning" In Michael's alcohol-induced brain, it was hard to tell.

"Go f*ck yourself," he muttered again, rewarded for his reply with a fist that felt like he'd just collided with a wall, which in all actuality, he had. Sliding down the brick wall of the liquor store, he collapsed on the ground, feeling something warm trickling down his forehead. It couldn't be rain. The rain was cold, and this felt warm. Through the numbness of his brain, he felt someone rifling through his jacket, taking the last of his cash, and tossing the wallet back at him to land in a puddle near his head that was turning a strange shade of red. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself, his tongue thick, like he had a fever.

He tried to blink, to lift himself off the street, but his vision swam as if he was on a ship at sea, riding out a storm. He knew he was slipping into oblivion, sweet, peaceful oblivion. Maybe if he was lucky, he wouldn't wake up. Maybe if he was lucky, he could go back in time, fix his mistakes, and none of this would have ever happened. A woman's face wavered in front of his field of vision, but it was only a hallucination. She wasn't real. She was too beautiful to be real. All golden-haired like an angel. He'd seen her before. He'd even dated her once. But that seemed like a million years ago. A lifetime ago. "Elena," he muttered, just as his world started turning black. "Elena, I miss you."

It seemed all of his life was playing itself out right before his eyes, like watching his own life on a movie screen. His head throbbed with a pain that was no longer just that of a simple need for a drink, and he realized as he watched his life play out before his mind's eye that he'd failed, this his life had come to nothing, and that it all went back to that one precious moment in time when he'd lost the only thing that had made life worth living. "If I could only see you one more time....Things would be different. I swear..." He wasn't sure if he'd spoken the words or merely thought them. Everything went black, and he lost all conscious thought of what happened after that.

The gentle creep of some sweet energy wrapped about Michael where he lay, gathering the dejected, frustrated, unconscious man into unseen arms, sweeping him from one plane to the next in a single moment. Rain turned to snow, and the water that soaked him through was dried as if by magic. Instead of the cold hard ground, he was laid between warm soft sheets, so gently not even the original occupier of those sheets noticed his arrival. Night trickled slowly onward into day, the sounds of the house he had been left in announcing the rising and leaving of three people in succession. But the lithe limbed form he had been laid beside ....now she didn't stir until the hour had begun to tick onward to midday and the inevitability of awakening.

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 08:45 EST
She'd been awake herself until the small hours, unable to find enough peace in her mind to sleep, anxious and craving something she was no longer allowed. Whatever had delivered him to her bed had waited until she had finally fallen into slumber before laying him down, granting the wish he had made in his dazed state. There they lay, peaceful and heedless of the world, her back pressed to his chest, his arm wrapped warm about her waist, like lovers or friends too close to be intimate. Until her eyes opened, blinking toward the wall opposite. A small frown settled itself between her brows as she took full note of the new weight over her waist, the warmth at her back, the breath ruffling through her hair to heat her neck, and very carefully she twisted to look at her bedfellow. A moment later, and she gave a loud yelp of startled shock, flailing arms and legs to scoot away as one hand seized her pillow and brought it down hard on his face. "Get out of my bed!"

He had fallen into some dazed stupor, unconscious of all thought, unaware of his whereabouts, startled to wakefulness by the blow against his face and an angry shout. His own arms and legs flailed as he was so rudely awoken, and he rolled onto the floor with a loud thump that further startled him to sudden sobriety. "What the hell..." he muttered, rubbing his forehead where the pillow had made contact. He blinked his eyes, his vision blurry, his surroundings swimming dizzily before his eyes. His head was pounding, and not just from the usual round of morning headaches, brought on by too much booze the night before.

What swam into focus as he blinked his eyes was the slender figure of a tanned blonde in skimpy shorts and a loose t-shirt, standing in the middle of the bed she had just kicked him out of, flailing a pillow bolster like a baseball bat. Huffing a hank of golden hair out of her eyes, she glared worriedly down at him with hazel green eyes no longer so sleepy as they had been a moment before. "Um ..." That wasn't precisely as angry as it should have been, and what came next was nowhere near. "Uh, are you okay?"

If she remembered him at all, he looked a little different from the last time she'd seen him. His hair was short and a little spikey, the dark scruffy shadow of a light beard covering his cheeks and chin, a few more lines here or there, but the main difference was his eyes. There was a haunted expression there, a weariness of life that seemed to lack any hope for the future. "What?" he mouthed, confused. He didn't recognize her right off, his muddled mind trying to sort out the fragments of memory before he'd awoken to find himself shoved out of a bed that was not his own and onto his *ss. "Where the hell am I?" he asked, wondering if he'd somehow broken into someone's house in the middle of the night during a drunken stupor and collapsed in a strange bed. "I-I'm sorry....I..." He rubbed the heel of his hand against his aching head. I need a drink, he thought to himself, closing his eyes in an attempt to make the room stop spinning.

"You look like crap." There was a thump as the pillow was dropped onto the bed, followed by another thump as the young woman standing on said bed jumped off it. "Don't throw up or anything." Footsteps padded away over what sounded like carpet, abruptly stopped, and came back again. "And if this is some trick of Sam's to stop me from testifying, let me tell you right now, mister, I have a baseball bat ....somewhere in here ....and I'm not afraid to break your legs with it." Feeling that this somehow covered the bases, she then headed off again. A minute or two later, she returned, glass of water in hand fizzing away happily with a couple of Alkaseltzer dissolving merrily in the bottom. She crouched on the floor beside him, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "Drink this. And seriously ....don't throw up."

"Sam..." he muttered confused, watching dizzily as she moved out of his field of vision. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he continued, leaning against the side of the bed as the room continued to spin. He hadn't gotten a good enough look at her yet to recognize her. She was just some random blonde in shorts and a t-shirt whose bedroom he'd somehow wound up in, though he wasn't sure how. "God..." he muttered again, lifting his head when she crouched down beside him and thrust something disgustingly fizzy into his hands. It was then that he realized there was something familiar about her, a face he hadn't seen or thought about in years. "Oh my God..." If his face wasn't pale enough already, it turned a shade paler, as if he'd just seen a ghost, and his hands started to shake hard enough to rattle the glass, looking like he was on the verge of passing out.

She watched him for a long moment as he shook and paled, her expression turning from concerned wariness to resigned understanding. "Man, I knew I was going to have to open this at some point," she muttered back to him, rescuing the glass before he could spill it. She climbed over him, finding her knees beside the bedside cabinet, and rummaged inside. "My sister is going to kill me if she ever finds out I even own this, much less ..." There was the satisfying crackle of the seal on a bottle being broken, and the scent of bourbon filled the air. A small bottle was pressed into his hand. "Settle your head."

There was no mistaking the scent of bourbon. It was a scent he knew all too well and that his body craved. His fingers brushed hers as she pressed the bottle into his shaking hands, and he thought he must be dreaming, hallucinating, something. She couldn't be real. None of this could be real. The last thing he remembered was heading to the liquor store in the rain. What had happened after that' Before he could press the bottle to his lips, he reached for her hand with fingers that were icy cold. "Are you real?" he asked, a glazed feverish look to his eyes, though he wasn't sick. At least, it wasn't the kind of sickness one could catch like the common cold.

She almost flinched when he took her hand, keeping herself from doing so only by sheer stubbornness. No bed-stealing night drifter was going to see any sign of weakness from her, oh no. Even if he was kinda cute ....No, Elena, stop that. She shook herself a little, trying to breathe through her mouth, trying to ignore the alluring scent that curled from the bottle and called to her. "Four months sober, four months sober," she muttered to herself like a mantra, swallowing hard before looking into the eyes of someone who was where she had been at the beginning of that four months. Tense and struggling to maintain her composure, she squeezed his cold hand. "I'm real," she promised him, knowing the state that had caused him to ask. "And you're frozen. Look, don't drink all of that, okay' I can ....Well, I have a bathroom, I can run you a hot shower or a bath, and Max is out, so I can steal something for you to wear." Her other hand gently smoothed over his cheek. "You look awful."

As sick as he was feeling, as confused as he felt, her touch did very little to bring him comfort, his heart sinking at the realization that she didn't recognize him, she didn't know who he was. He almost laughed at the irony of it; so ironic it would have made for a good story, if he was feeling well enough to write it down. For all that he usually didn't want to be recognized, that he only wanted to be left alone, he found himself wishing she remembered him. He sure as hell remembered her. "You don't know who I am, do you?" he asked, the bottle clutched tightly in his frozen fingers, wondering if he was finally losing his mind.

She frowned uncertainly, looking him over, looking closer at the haunted eyes, the features that made up the cute face. "I, uh ..." Biting her lip, she rested back on her heels thoughtfully. "You look kinda familiar," she conceded warily. "But then, you know, I've been kinda out of it for a few ....years. Maybe if you gave me a clue?"

Considering the disaster that had been their one and only date, he changed his mind, thinking maybe it was better if she didn't remember who he was after all. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. If you could just call me a cab or something, I'll get out of your hair." He attempted to move to his feet, but found his legs wouldn't cooperate and sank back onto the floor, looking as perplexed and confused as ever.

For some unaccountable reason, that hurt her feelings. Elena wasn't used to feeling her emotions up front and immediately yet, and the hurt showed on her face for a long moment before she leaned back, her frown deepening with irritation. "All right, whatever," she shook her head, dismissing the idea. "Drink the damned bourbon before I do. You don't want my help? That's fine. But you drink that, or you take it away. You're not leaving it here." She pushed herself onto her feet, laying her hands on her hips as she looked down at him.

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 08:48 EST
Following her with his eyes as she moved to her feet and glared down at him made his head swim. "Sorry," he told her, sensing her irritation. "It's just....You're not real. You can't be real. I'm not sure what you are....A dream, a figment of my imagination, a hallucination....Maybe I've lost my mind or..." He turned away, the last moments before he'd woken up here, wherever here was, a foggy memory. He lifted a hand to touch his forehead where the mugger had smashed him in the head. "Maybe I'm dead," he muttered quietly, furrowing his brows in confusion.

She had been about to turn away when his words struck a chord. The timbre of his voice as he said, "A dream, a figment of my imagination, an hallucination ..." ....it was familiar. Very familiar. She remembered a few years before, a single disastrous date with a handsome writer who had been so disbelieving that she'd agreed to go out with him that he had spent almost the whole time trying to convince himself it wasn't happening. And, of course, she'd been so drunk all the time in those days, she hadn't helped the situation any. God, she didn't even remember if she'd slept with him, although knowing her, it was highly likely.

Elena turned back, her frown losing its irritated edge as she crouched down again, moving more slowly this time. She reached out to tilt his chin up, looking into eyes that were suddenly a lot easier to place. "Oh my God," she murmured, mildly astonished. "Michael" Michael Donnelly?"

A small ironic smile flickered briefly across his lips as she finally recognized him and called him by name. Ironically, he almost wished she hadn't remembered him as remembering him meant remembering that single disastrous date that would be forever etched in his memory as one of the events in his life that he'd always wished he could change. His chin tilted toward her, she suddenly filled his field of vision, even as his head swam, as though they were adrift on a stormy sea. His face turned a sickly shade of green. "I think I'm gonna be sick." Whether it was the Nexus or the blow to the head or the shock of seeing her again or the booze was hard to say. More than likely, it was a combination of all those things.

Her eyes widened. She recognized the signs only too well, though she didn't have time right now to enjoy not being the one feeling them directly. "Oh, no, you don't." The bedside cabinet came open again, there was a stripping, tearing sound, and she stuck a sizable piece of duct tape over his mouth. Anything not to have to clean vomit up off her carpet. A moment later, she'd pulled the bottle out of his hand and was heaving to get him up on his feet. "C'mon, big guy, you can barf in the toilet. No place else."

His own eyes widened as she stuck duct tape over his mouth, effectively muffling his protests. What the hell was she doing" Did she really think a piece of duct tape would stop him from barfing all over her carpet' He stumbled to his feet, grabbing hold of her arm as the room started spinning. Knowing the tape wasn't going to hold anything back if his stomach continued to churn and heave, he covered his already covered mouth with his hand, a panicked glance searching the spinning room for something to safely puke in that wouldn't offend her. An open window, a sink, a toilet, a tub, anything but her precious carpet.

Thankfully the room wasn't very big, or at least wide. Using his own momentum against him - and several years' experience of directing her own drunken *ss around the scenery - Elena dragged Michael over to the bathroom door and kicked it open. "Ready," she said, pulling the duct tape off his mouth. "Aim." She guided him onto his knees beside the sink. "Fire."

He stumbled after her as she led him to the bathroom and the porcelain god at which he was about to worship. He barely noticed the sting as she tore the duct tape from his mouth, too busy trying to contain the contents of his stomach, which mostly consisted of partially digested bourbon. Dropping onto his knees, he leaned over to hug the toilet and empty his stomach, violent and painful, not to mention humiliating. He told himself for the umpteen thousandth time that if he survived the night, he'd never drink again, but a little voice poking at his mind accused him of being a liar. At the moment, he almost wished he was dead. Death had to be easier than this.

She didn't stay with him while he was at worship, merely making sure he was aimed in the right direction and patting his back before leaving the room. While Michael was disgorging the contents of his stomach, Elena was on the phone to her sponsor, rummaging through her ex-brother-in-law's belongings, and putting together a tray of the blandest meal she could find. By the time she came back down, Michael had a change of clothes, a jug of water to wash his mouth out with, and a stack of dry white toast. She stepped over his legs as she passed back into the bathroom, turning the faucet on to fill the bath. "Okay, gorgeous," she said, kneeling down beside him with a glass of water. "Rinse and spit."

By the time he was done, he felt wrung out, weak, exhausted, shaking even worse than he was when he'd first awoke. He offered no argument, taking the glass from her with a shaky hand and sipping enough to swish around in his mouth and rinse away the vile and all too familiar taste of regurgitated bourbon. Once that was done, he leaned back on his heels to take a few slow breaths, as confused as ever, but at least his stomach didn't feel like it was swinging like a pendulum anymore. In his stupor, he barely even registered that she'd called him gorgeous. She had to just be teasing. If she thought he was so gorgeous, why had their date gone so terribly wrong"

Elena watched him as he breathed slowly, knowing that feeling only too well. She reached out to flush the toilet, washing away the scent of his vomit in the process, and leaned back to check the temperature of the water. Shaking the droplets from her hand, she then took hold of his chin gently, studying his face. "Better?"

Now that his stomach was no longer heaving, he had a moment of clarity to try and piece together what had happened, what was happening, eyes searching the eyes that haunted his dreams. "I don't understand..." he started, looking painfully confused, fearful even. "Am I dead?"

"You're not dead. It's difficult to explain." She smiled suddenly, the expression lighting up her face as she moved onto her feet once again, offering him her hands. "C'mon, gorgeous, time to get you cleaned up."

He remembered that smile like it had been only yesterday. A smile that could light up a room. His book - no, his screenplay adapted from his book - had been her big break. She'd been amazing, gorgeous, and still was, apparently. It had taken weeks for him to work up the nerve to ask her out. What the hell was she doing here" Had she found him on the street and tried to rescue him' No, that couldn't be right. She'd seemed as surprised to see him as he was to see her. "What are you doing in Boston, Elena?" he asked, taking her hands as he climbed to his feet, still looking more than a little shell-shocked at his unexpected journey through the Nexus.

Her smile twisted into a rueful little quirk as she snorted faintly with laughter, her hands releasing his to slide his jacket off his shoulders. "See, that's the difficult bit to explain," she chuckled softly, pulling the leather free and tossing it onto the bed through the door. "You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy." Her hands tucked under the hem of his shirt, raising the material up as she looked into his eyes. "Just ....you gotta trust me, okay' This is the safest place in the world."

He arched a brow at her explanation that wasn't really an explanation, startled suddenly by the fact that she was undressing him, his pale face flushing as he pulled away. "I think I can handle it," he told her turning around so she was facing his back. They hadn't gotten each other's clothes off the first time around, so she had no way of knowing that he'd filled out a little since then. He'd gotten a couple of tats, nothing too embarrassing - one for a friend who'd passed on, another for luck. "You saying we're in Oz?" he asked, quickly changing the subject. "Is that what they're calling Hell these days?"

"Not in Hell, not in Oz," she told him, biting her lips to keep herself from laughing at his sudden attack of shyness as he turned around. "It's called Rhy'Din. And it's nowhere on Earth." She turned away herself, bending to close the faucet. "It's, uh ....yeah, I really don't know how to explain it. My sister could, if she was here."

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 08:50 EST
His fingers stopped fussing with the buttons and zipper of his jeans as he glanced over his shoulder at her, a highly dubious expression on his face. "Nowhere on Earth." He dropped his hands away from his jeans and turned to face her, the top button hanging open, but the zipper thankfully still in place. "Is this some kind of joke?" He chuckled dryly. "It's Candid Camera or something, isn't it' Where's the camera?" He glanced around the room, searching for anything that might hide a camera from view. "You got me good, Elena. Who put you up to it?"

"Yeah, that's right." As if her expression wasn't enough, the sarcastic drawl of her voice licked over him as she rolled her eyes, stepping closer to him as he turned to face her. "I abducted you from your local neighborhood gutter, dried you off, put you in my bed, and then pretended like I wasn't expecting it, all for some stupid TV show no one's gonna watch anyway." Her hands tucked inside the waistband of his jeans as she met his gaze, as much a challenge as the invitation she seemed to be offering. "Look, you either trust me now, or you get to freak out when you leave this house. Which isn't gonna be until you're clean and dry, have something in your stomach that isn't booze, and you've slept. Properly." The zipper of his jeans didn't stand a chance against her determined fingers. "Get your clothes off and get in the damned tub, Michael. Don't make me get physical."

His expression mutated a few times while she rattled on, annoyance melting into confusion, which then turned to curiosity - briefly wondering if he was going to get laid. Curiosity turned to bewilderment as he realized she was trying to help him, and finally all of it turned to annoyance, mostly at his incomprehension of the situation than at her. "If you'd told me that on our one and only date, it might have gone better," he remarked, flippantly as he pulled her fingers away from his jeans and turned his back to her again. "Are you just gonna watch or you planning on joining me?"

She snorted again, impressed that he still had an attitude after puking his guts up in her bathroom. "What, you think I'm wasting that hot water just on you? Give me a break." He really should have known better than to challenge her like that; she wasn't exactly known for thinking before she acted, and modesty was not one of Elena De Luca's virtues. She turned her own back, hiding her grin, and whipped her sleep shirt up over her head, tossing it over his to land in the basket with his clothes.

His mouth dropped open when her shirt came flying over his head to land in the clothes basket and he couldn't help but turn around to see if she was just toying with him or what. He had managed to get his fly down, a glimpse of navy blue briefs behind the open zipper. "You're crazy," he accused, probably not for the first time, though he was more than likely just as nuts as she was. He waggled a finger at her warningly. "You are not real. You are a figment of my imagination. I only wished you, and now I'm dreaming you. That's all this is. It's just some crazy dream." It has to be, he told himself. Because if it isn't, I must be losing my mind.

She turned back toward him, utterly unfazed by her almost completely nude state and making no attempt to hide herself. She figured she'd been naked enough times on screen by now for nothing to be a secret anymore. "If it's just a dream, gorgeous, why not enjoy it?" she offered with a sarcastic smirk. "Seriously ....I wasn't joking about stripping and dunking you. Get them off." She pointed at his jeans and briefs, one brow raised in a visible threat.

He didn't move a muscle, frozen in place, the only thing that moved was his gaze, taking her in from head to toe, and biting his lip to stifle a groan as he felt his body betraying him. He'd seen her more than once on the big screen, not to mention the magazine centerfolds he had tucked away in his apartment back in Boston that were a little tattered with wear. "I can't..." He pouted, feeling like an *ss. "I've got a hard on."

Her other brow rose, her smile turning to something suggestively seductive purely because she knew she'd turned him on without even trying. Her own gaze slowly swept down and up again. "And this is a problem ....why, exactly?" she asked, her smile definitely a smirk now as she stepped close once again. This time her hand completely avoided any pretense of undressing him, moving straight to cup the source, as it were, of his apparent problem. "I'm taking care of you, aren't I?"

He backed up as she stepped closer, the shy, terrified side of him overcoming the desire to let the dream - or whatever it was - run its course. He nearly toppled over the garbage can as he retreated, finding himself with his back, literally, up against the wall. He gulped a breath as her hand found the source of his problem, stifling a moan. "Why are you torturing me?" he asked, once again looking confused, that haunted look returning to his eyes.

She rose up on her toes, enjoying having him pinned with one hand, and let her breath tease over his lips, confident that hers, at least, was sweeter than his for the time being. "I'm not," she promised, although she was getting a certain amount of wicked pleasure from, yes, torturing him. Abruptly, her hands shifted, and she crouched, pulling his jeans and briefs down in a single movement. "Mmm ....Damn, I hope I didn't sleep with you and forget about it," was her comment on what was briefly on her eye level before she stood up again. Her hand gently patted his cheek as she smiled again. "Get in the bath, Michael."

He gasped at her boldness, finding himself suddenly mostly naked but for his socks and shoes, his jeans and briefs wrapped around his ankles. "You didn't," he reminded her, his face flaring with the heat of embarrassment. "Don't you remember" You told me you never wanted to see me again." Maybe she hadn't really meant it at the time, but he'd taken her seriously, and it had hurt for months afterward. That said, his pride took over, and he kicked out of his shoes and socks and stepped out of his pants, to move past her toward the waiting bathtub. What he wouldn't give for a drink about now.

She winced as he reminded her of thoughtless words she'd spoken out of stupid pride and impatience, turning away for a moment as regret over her own idiocy not just with him, but with everyone, poured through her. Her eyes focused on the open bottle of bourbon left by the bed, and she felt herself begin to salivate, a shake touching her hands at the first real press of craving she'd had in almost a month. With a groan, she tore her gaze away from the bottle, pulling the door shut, and looked back at him with an unsteady frown. "Yeah, well, I'm dumb blonde who doesn't know a good thing when she sees it," she said, a little sharply, but the jab was aimed entirely at herself. For a moment she hesitated, but bent to step out of her own underwear, following him to the tub. "Bad friends and bad choices, that's me. If it can go wrong, it will."

By the time she turned back, he was waist deep in hot water and leaning back against the tub to try and immerse himself as far as he could, not only to hide from her prying eyes, but to soak up the heat of the water, feeling like a melting icicle. He threw a sharp glance her way, regretting what he'd said, no matter how much she might have hurt him. "Don't say that, Elena. That's not true," he told her, trying to keep his eyes focused on her face and utterly failing. She really was going to get in the tub with him' What the hell was going on"

She sighed softly, not even giving him a second glance as she stepped into the steaming water herself. "Don't lie to me, Michael," she said quietly, lowering herself to the waist facing him. "I've been a screw up for years. It took getting blood on my hands to make me stop and think. I know I'm a disaster zone, but I'm trying to fix it." She shrugged, gliding over to settle herself with terrifying comfort in a straddle of his thighs, reaching over his shoulder for a washcloth. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

He blinked in stunned bewilderment, not only at her beauty, which had always dazzled him to stupidity, but at her blunt honesty and the way she seemed to actually feel remorse for what had happened between them. He'd always assumed she'd forgotten him without so much as a second thought. Now he wasn't so sure. But none of that explained what was happening or how he'd got here - wherever here was. Rhy'Din, she'd said, but he'd never heard of any place called Rhy'Din before. "It's the first time I've done a bathtub confessional," he admitted morosely, softening a little as she did a sufficient job of beating herself up. "What happened?" he asked, partly out of curiosity and partly out of genuine concern.

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 08:52 EST
She avoided his eyes as she wet the cloth, drawing it over his face and down his neck, wiping away the last vestiges of his interlude with the toilet bowl before speaking. "I got drunk," she told him, the shame she felt at her years of bad behavior radiating from her. "I stayed drunk. For six years." She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes as she added in a shaken tone, "And I got involved with Sam Nicoletti."

He stilled as she drew the wet cloth over his face and neck, afraid to admit how soothing it felt, how it was helping to still the shaking and chase away the chills that were only partly alcohol-related. He visibly winced as she went on to confess her own problems with his chosen vice, unable to meet her gaze for a moment, only looking back at her when she mentioned a name he thought he recognized from the papers, noticing the shaken tone of her voice and remembering how she'd accused him of having been sent by Sam upon awaking to find him in her bed. "Nicoletti," he repeated, searching his memory for a reason why the name sounded so familiar.

"He, uh ....We were together for a couple of years," Elena explained awkwardly, watching her hands as she drew the washcloth over his skin. Her sponsor had told her time and again that it was a good thing for her to talk about this. But that didn't make it any easier. "He's ....he wasn't so bad, I thought. We had fun. There was always enough booze to keep the aches and the shakes away. But then I started overhearing things; orders his father was giving him, orders he was giving to his associates. And then a coupla days later, I'd see on the news or read about how someone was dead, and I could have stopped it if I'd done something when I first heard Sam talking about it. But ..." She shuddered, her hands stilling as she sagged. "A few months back, I saw Sam shoot a guy in the head. In my apartment. And he knew I saw it, because he made me come out. He made me help get rid of the body. And if we hadn't been arrested that night for speeding ....I think he would've got rid of me." Hazel green eyes rose to meet Michael's gaze once again. "The prosecutor on the case got my testimony against Sam. They're indicting him, and going after his father."

His mouth formed an "Oh," but nothing came out. What was he supposed to say to all that' It sounded almost like one of his novels - one that hadn't been written yet, or had been started half a dozen times. Those kinds of stories never turned out well. Too much blood, too much death. It was the kind of story that only made him want to drink himself into oblivion. He felt himself shudder against his own will, despite the hot water he had immersed himself in. She was an alcoholic who had somehow gotten involved with the mob. What had happened to both of them' Well, at least, he didn't have any blood on his hands. That was something, anyway. He studied her silently a moment, unsure what to say. "You said it's safe here," he reminded her, trying to keep his voice as gentle and reassuring as he could.

"That ....that's why I'm here," she nodded, looking at him as though she expected him to push her away, to demand to leave, anything to get away from her and the trouble she'd gotten herself into. "Nearly my whole family got moved here after I ....after I made a deal with the police. Otherwise they're dead. I'm dead. I can't go home, ever. Even if they do get the Nicolettis, there'll be people out for my blood, just because I testified. So I just gotta hope they never come here." She shrugged again, taking in a slow breath to steady herself, raising the cloth to resume washing his skin gently. "And I gotta stay clean, or it won't have been worth a damn."

"Wherever here is," he murmured beneath his breath, glancing off in thought, still believing he was imagining all this, though it seemed real enough. She seemed real enough. He seemed to recall reading something in the papers about the Nicoletti trial, but all of that was going on in New York, and being from Boston, he'd paid it little heed. Besides, he didn't have time for the news. He was too busy brooding and drinking and typing out inane drivel on his keyboard to pay much attention to current events. Still, there was some truth to her story, as unreal as this all seemed. Stay clean, he heard her say. How many times had he heard that over the last few years" His chest ached with guilt and remorse. She'd been clean how long now" Four months, had she said" He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of both their problems laying heavily against his heart. He couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if their first and only date hadn't been a complete disaster. Would they be where they were today' Did it even matter"

There was silence for a long while, broken only by the gentle splash as the cloth dipped in and out of the water. Elena didn't quite know what had just happened. She'd been in control of the situation, she'd had a plan ....and suddenly that plan was gone. There was an old familiar ache making itself known, the one entirely to blame for her drinking in the first place. The ache that had always come with knowing she wasn't good enough for anyone, the ache that reminded her of the dorky teenager with glasses and braces who'd been bullied because she wasn't like her more attractive sisters, her successful big brother; who couldn't have gotten anyone to love her even if she'd had something to offer them in return. The little girl who'd never gotten over her Papa leaving home. "Michael?" Her voice sounded tiny in the quiet that surrounded them. "Could you ....could you hold me, just for a minute?"

His mind was feeling muddled again, full of confusion. A few swallows of booze would clear that right up, but he didn't dare ask her for that. Not now that he knew she was a recovering alcoholic. No one was ever really fully recovered. They were all recovering, no matter how long they'd been off the booze. He blinked out of his thoughts when she called his name, looking over at the woman who suddenly reminded him of a wounded little girl. "Elena, I..." He licked his lips, feeling reluctant, knowing if he let her get too close, he was only going to get hurt all over again. And yet, she seemed so lonely, so scared, so helpless, he couldn't help but want to offer some comfort if he could. He only wished they weren't both naked. It was going to be difficult hiding his feelings for her without any clothing to hide behind. "I, uh..." He wasn't quite sure how to hold her without feeling awkward, but despite that, he opened his arms to draw her close.

She'd never asked for comfort before. Strange, that it should be a virtual stranger who witnessed that part of her she usually kept hidden. She leaned into him, uncaring that they were both naked, that it was hardly the most chaste of embraces. She needed to feel at least the illusion of being wanted despite her screw ups, and he could give her that. She closed her eyes, drawing her own arms about him as she tucked herself so close not even a breath could pass between them, hiding her face against the warm column of his neck. And again, for a long moment there was silence. But the ache was still there, still hurting her, still demanding a drink to ease the pain, and in response, she did the only thing she dared. Her lips parted, and she touched a tentative kiss to the pulse that beat so close to her mouth.

He wrapped her in his embrace, warm now that he had thawed out, trembling a little, but that had nothing to do with his addiction or his journey through the Nexus. It was all because of her. He had longed to hold this close once. It seemed like such a long time ago. Had it only been a few years" He felt an odd swell of jealousy. It could have been him instead of Nicoletti, that bastard. It should have been him. He would never have hurt her like this. Things could have been so different. He let his fingers slip through her hair as he held her close, acutely aware of the warmth of her body so close to his, the beat of her heart, her breath against his neck....her lips. He realized with a jolt that she had pressed a softly tentative kiss against his neck, and he pulled away to give her a searching glance, as if trying to read her thoughts.

She gasped as he pulled away, caught in the act and instantly assuming that she had crossed a line. Sober, Elena didn't have the balls to reach out and take what she wanted, despite her blunt attitude to life. She took his searching gaze as a rejection, and accusation, and closed her eyes, her head ducking down. "I'm sorry, I just ....I'm sorry."

"That's the second time tonight you apologized to me," he remarked soberly, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. "I don't know why I'm here or how I got here. I'm the one who should be apologizing to you, Elena. I crashed into your life without warning, drunk out of my mind. I'm a f*cking mess, Elena. You have enough problems to deal with without having to deal with me."

Her hands slid about to rest against his chest as he drew her gaze back to meet his, the fear of being pushed away easily allayed by the way he spoke to her. "Takes one to know one?" she suggested softly, one shoulder rising and falling in dismissal of his assumption of his own faults. "You're not drunk now. Maybe I could help you stay that way, if you stay."

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 08:56 EST
He mirrored her shrug, not having much faith in himself. He did once, but not anymore. "I've tried so many times. It's....it's too hard." And yet, if she'd done it, why couldn't he" Not alone. He knew he couldn't do it alone. He'd tried AA once, but that hadn't worked either. The truth was it had become easier to drown his sorrows in a bottle than to face the challenges of living.

"No, it isn't. It's hard, but it's not impossible. I'm walking proof." Her fingers dared to touch his face without the barrier of the cloth between them, green eyes warily hopeful as she looked into his. "If I can do it, anyone can. It just takes time." She bit her lip, taking one, two deep breaths, and leaned forward, catching his lips with her own in a gentle kiss. "Maybe we can help each other," she whispered, ashamed of herself for taking advantage of his attraction to her to cushion herself against the ache inside that wanted a drink.

He searched her eyes, seeing the wary but hopeful look, but too afraid to share in that hope, and yet, someone or something had brought him here for a reason. He just had to figure out what that reason was. It couldn't be as simple as to give them both a second chance, could it' Wasn't that what his murky brain had asked for just before he'd passed out' He remembered it now that he'd had a few minutes to clear the cobwebs from his brain, as unreal as it now seemed. Strangely, this seemed more like the reality than the reality he'd come from. "Are you trying to save me?" he asked quietly, afraid to speak any louder, lest his voice break with undisguised emotion, but before she could answer she was kissing his lips, and he felt his heart ache with an old longing that had never quite been forgotten.

"No," she whispered back to him, barely a breath from his lips. This wasn't affection, it wasn't even lust; it was need, pure and simple. The need to feel desire and be desired, that first step to mending the gashes in her heart and soul. It was selfish, yes, but only if she let it get out of control. "I'm asking you to save me."

He searched those hazel green eyes again, looking for some hint of what she really wanted from him. She didn't love him; he knew that. She didn't even know him, really, but some part of her wanted him, or wanted something from him. Was she just using him' Was she just going to break his heart all over again? He couldn't deny that he wanted to give her what she was asking for, at least physically; his heart longing for something more than just physical attraction; his head telling him that he was crazy to try, but when had he ever listened to his head" He touched her face, letting his fingers wander across her cheek, as he searched those lovely eyes of hazel green, the window to the soul, or so they say. What were those eyes telling him about her heart, about her soul"

If Elena had known she had already broken his heart once in his lifetime, she would have been more careful. She wouldn't have given into the wish for something only another person could give her, not with him. Her lips touched his once again, her eyes pleading with him to take a chance just this once. Was she really so damned that not even he could save her"

In the end, his heart won over his head, and he granted her wish, his lips slow and tender in the taking, lighting a fire inside him that would become more than obvious before long, his body bared to her, along with soul. She could tear his heart out and stomp on it, and it wouldn't have changed a thing. He'd still have kissed her, still have given her what she wanted, if only because she had asked it of him, and he couldn't bear to tell her no.

Had anyone kissed her like this" She couldn't have said. Sam's kisses had always been demanding, forceful, exciting; other men had been lost in the haze of booze and adrenaline that had colored her awakening. This kiss was something wholly new, lighting a new flame of regret amid the desire that flickered into life within her. If things had been different back then, would this have been in her life before now" The water splashed as she slid to him, fitting snug, body to body, her lips parting to breathe in his breath before sealing once again in an echo of his tenderness.

She was like a drug, more tempting, more seductive, more alluring, more pleasurable than anything he'd ever experienced before. Her lips were like the sweetest honey, soft and warm against his, and he felt a yearning deep inside his soul that all of this wasn't just a dream; that when he awoke in the morning, he wouldn't find himself face down in a gutter somewhere, wishing for something that could never be. If it was just a dream, well then, there was no reason why he shouldn't enjoy it; and if it wasn't, then all the better. He slid closer, meeting her half-way, his pulse pounding in his veins, demanding more.

To overcome an addiction, find something to replace your drug of choice. Wise words from her sponsor, but was it possible to replace alcohol with an entire person' And would Michael mind being her go-to guy whenever she felt weak" Was he even going to stay beyond the inevitable discovery that he could go home whenever he wanted" These thoughts flashed through her mind like wildfire, there one moment, gone the next, forgotten in the unexpected thrill that filled her, pushing away the aching, burning need for anything but this. Anything but him. Her hands slithered over his skin, restless, roaming, hungry to touch and be touched, to lose herself for just a little while in the fantasy that she belonged to someone who cared.

He had tried to resist, tried to talk himself out of letting her use him, but resistance was futile. He was a man, after all, with a man's needs and desires, and she was far too tempting for him to deny. The only problem was that neither of them could predict what might happen when they opened that Pandora's Box. The more she reacted to his kisses, warming to him, touching him, the more she awakened his desire, and like a sleeping beast, once awakened, there would be no lulling it back to sleep until it was well and completely satiated. His kisses deepened as the flame of desire blazed deep inside, and he dared, without asking or without thought, to take her and claim her for himself, if only for one night.

Strangely unhurried, despite the crackling friction they were drawing to life between them, still she wasted little time, needing to feel him inside her, to drink in everything he could give her and give back, if she could, even a little of what he seemed to desire from her. Fitted together with startling neatness, she gasped as she felt him press deep, breaking their shared kisses to stare into his eyes for a long moment, still and unmoving in the cooling water. Passion flared in her gaze, touched with guilt, with shame, overwhelmed by longing desire as her breath mingled with his in the space between their lips. In moments like this, she couldn't imagine booze ever comparing to this feeling ....but booze didn't break your heart the way a man could. Maybe no strings attached would be different.

His thoughts were so utterly different from hers, wondering at the strange second chance that he'd been given, that they'd both been given. He recognized the passion in her gaze and misunderstood it for something else, wondering why it had taken so long for them to find each other again, and Oh God, please, don't let this be a dream. His breath caught in his throat as he moved inside her, pressing deeper, feeling her breath so close to his it was almost a caress. He felt himself suddenly explode, breaking and shattering like a thousand shards of glass. Pain and pleasure mingled together, and he groaned with the forcefulness of his own release. It had been so long, too long. How he'd dreamed of this moment, and now it was real. Or was it' He couldn't be sure, nor did he care. He claimed her lips again, pulling her hard against his chest, shuddering with pleasure as his climax rocked his body and hers, lost in that all too brief moment when they were one body, one heart, one soul.

It was real. It was almost too real, too immediate, too unrelenting for her to cope with. She'd managed for four months without it, without daring the shattering force of feeling that came with that moment of ecstasy, but there was no denying it now. It crashed through her, shaking her to the shallow foundations of her character, her soul, as she clung to him, her cry of pleasure swallowed in his kiss as they shuddered together. And though her reasons might be selfish, uncaring toward his heart and his infatuation with her, the truth was that she had dared that moment with him. She could have tested her courage with anyone, but she'd chosen to test herself with the man wrapped close in her arms, holding her as though she were his only lifeline.

It might be real to her, but to him, it was like a dream. It would have been a dream come true if it weren't for the throbbing ache in his head and the taste of old bourbon that mingled with the sweetness of her kisses. It might have been perfect if not for the fact that she was using him as a poor substitute for another addiction, at least in his mind, though at that very moment in time, he wasn't sure he cared. He'd care later. For now, he was too caught up in the moment, rocked to the core of his being by the tumult of emotions that accompanied his release, like a damn breaking loose of flood of emotions, turbulent and forceful in their sudden unexpected wake.

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 08:59 EST
Her lips teased his as she gently leaned back, breathless still as a shiver traveled the length of her body in the chill left on her skin when he was no longer pressed tight to her. Slowly her eyes opened, half-lidded, drunk on something that wasn't alcohol for the first time in a long time. "Well," she drawled softly, drawing his lower lip into her mouth to bite lightly before releasing him, "that's one way to get clean, I guess."

He wasn't so quick to lean back as she was, leaning forward instead as if reluctant to break the connection, drunk on the sensations that were slowly fading as she pulled herself away. "Are you talking about me or you?" he asked as his eyes slowly opened beneath a dark fringe of lashes, in stark contrast to his pale complexion. He seemed full of contrasts, contradictions, complexities, all hidden behind a pair of stark blue eyes and a handsome face that was completely unaware of his capability to turn heads.

The accusation stung, because it was exactly right. Elena winced just a little, dropping her gaze from his with a quiet breath, her hands slipping between them in the cooling water. "I'd like to think it's both," was her answer to his question, green eyes failing to meet his again as she frowned just a little. She was being selfish, taking what she wanted without a thought for him. But he'd wanted it too, hadn't he" He hadn't just f*cked her out of pity for the little rich girl who'd begged. Had he"

No, pity was the furthest thing from his mind. It wasn't pity that had made him agree to help her. It hadn't been lust either, or maybe it had, just a little. Desperation. Loneliness. Longing. But it was over. The moment had passed, the spell had ended. Until the next time, if there was a next time. "I should go," he told her with a troubled frown. But go where" Back to Boston' Back to a life of emptiness" He sighed as he realized how futile the statement was. "Alice through the Looking Glass," he muttered to himself. It was a hell of a lot more accurate that Oz. He wondered idly if a bite of a mushroom would take him back home, if he even wanted to go home.

Of all the things he could have said, that was possibly the worst. Barely five minutes after screwing her, to say "I should go". Elena stiffened as though she'd been slapped in the face, her eyes snapping up to meet his with angry distress clear in her expression. Ah ....so that was why the one date she barely remembered had ended so badly, she guessed. All he'd wanted was to f*ck Elena De Luca, and now he had, all he wanted was to get away. "Like I've never heard that before," she muttered, pushing away with a soft shudder for the parting of their bodies, rising to step out of the bath without a backward glance. "Sorry I disappointed you, I didn't have a director yelling instructions from ten feet away." She snatched a towel off the rail, wrapping it around herself, seething with a flare of irrational fury and pain.

Well, what was he supposed to say' I love you? He was sure that would have gone over well. It was just like before. She wanted too much for him too soon or too little. He wasn't sure which. His mouth dropped open at her reaction. She had completely misunderstood him. Again. That was what had been their downfall the first time around. No, there had been no first time. It had only been one date. And he'd hardly gotten past first base. What the f*ck was the matter with her" Wasn't this what she'd wanted" He stared open-mouthed as she threw unfair accusations at him and stormed from the room. He leaned his back against the smooth cooling surface of the tub and ran a hand across his face. What the hell did she want from him anyway"

She wasn't gone long, too wound up not to say something. A moment later, she was back in the bathroom, still fiddling to settle the towel securely about herself as she glared down at him. "Do you have any idea how many guys have pretended to actually like me just so they say they've f*cked Elena De Luca" You know how long they waited after coming before saying, 'hey babe, I gotta go'" Ten minutes! Congratulations, you just broke a record. I hope the money you get from the tabloids chokes you." She spun to leave the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to throw back over her shoulder. "And if you tell me you'll call, I will break something over your head."

His arms found their way to the sides of the tub as he leaned back, clearly stunned by her vehemence, which seemed to be more aimed at past boyfriends than at him, though he was fortunate enough to be the current target of her anger and hurt. It was hurt, he knew, that caused her to lash out at him the way she did, but had she even bothered to consider how he might be feeling" Well, he had his pride. He wasn't going to apologize and he sure as hell wasn't going to beg.

So much for breakfast and whatever else she had planned for him. If she thought she could cure him or herself with a five minute f*ck, she was clearly worse off than he was. He said nothing in exchange for her sharp words, not yet, unsure if it was better to leave quietly or to tell her how stupid she was being. Someone sure as hell had to, at some point. He waited until she had left again before pulling the plug on the tub and pulling himself to his feet. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. "Glad you can think for me," he muttered to himself, clenching his jaw, anger just starting to replace the hurt.

She was slamming around in the bedroom beyond, opening up drawers and extracting clothing for herself with little to no care for the noise she was making, the violence she was employing against innocent furniture. "Bastard men," she was saying, half to herself and half making certain he could hear her. "Nothing's ever good enough. Show one little crack, and they're right in there, making it wider, pouring salt in -" She stopped, turning back to march toward the bathroom, her towel discarded by now in favor of lingerie that did nothing to disguise the body that had tempted him so badly in the first place. "You should go' Seriously?" she demanded. "That's all you can think of to say when I'm shaking for you? And where the hell are you gonna go, you're not on Earth anymore!"

By the time she had returned to the bathroom, he had managed to get the towel wrapped securely around his waist and was bent over the sink, trying to get the taste of sour bourbon out of his mouth. He spat into the sink and straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowed at her as she threw still more insinuations and accusations his way. "Are you done yet?" he asked, mustering as much patience as was humanly possible.

She fidgeted from foot to foot, raising her hands to let them rest on the hourglass curve of her hips, breathing shallow and fast, trying to get a hold on her anger as she looked up at him. And just under the anger was the suggestion of fear - Sam had been free with his fists whenever she expressed herself in any way he didn't like. She didn't know if Michael was the same. "Possibly," was her response to his inhumanly patient query. "Maybe. I don't know, the next thing you say might piss me off worse. Take a chance, gorgeous."

And as if it was tit for tat, she couldn't have said anything to add to his confusion more than that. The creases in his forehead smoothed out as his anger turned to confusion. "Why do you call me that?" he asked, judging himself unworthy of the pet name, assuming she was only teasing him with it. If she was afraid of him getting violent, she needn't be. Oh, he might put his fist through a wall or a door every now and then out of frustration, but he'd never lift a finger to her, no matter how cruel her treatment or how heated his anger. "You know, I was going to apologize for....you know....f*cking you, as you so succinctly put it, but since you think I'm just like every other man you've ever met, why bother?" He brushed past her to locate the clothing she'd tossed into the laundry hamper. He wasn't going to stay anywhere he wasn't wanted.

"You were going to apologize?" Her voice cracked even as it rose with incredulous anger, her body turning as he brushed past to take hold of his arm and pull him back around to face her. "Do you have any idea how insulting that is? I threw myself at you, I should be the one apologizing!" Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd said, but decided to run with it anyway. "So yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wanted you, I'm sorry I didn't give you any choice, and ....and I'm really sorry you can't wait to get away from me."

Quite suddenly, the anger was gone, melted away into the hurt that had surfaced as soon as he had announced his intention to leave. "God, it's not like I'm asking you marry me or anything. I was gonna wash your clothes, help you find somewhere to stay maybe. I know I'm a selfish bitch, Michael, but God ....I'm not the one who decided to run away as soon as the sex was done." She let go of his arm, sagging a little where she stood. "And you are gorgeous," she added, glaring at him as though it was entirely his fault that, despite being in the middle of an argument, she still couldn't keep her eyes from straying, or her hands from twitching toward him. "Just would've been nice to find out if your inside matches the outside."

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 09:01 EST
"You really don't get it, do you?" he threw back, as she tugged his arm hard enough to stop him in his tracks and pull him back around to face her, shaking his arm away from her grasp with narrowed eyes. "Is that what you think" That I'm running away' Jesus Christ, Elena." He sighed, the anger going out of him again as her own anger seemed to simmer. "My inside," he repeated, letting her see the hurt in his eyes at the assumed presumption that he was as much of an *ss as her ex-boyfriend. "See, that's your real problem, Elena. You only see what?s right in front of you. You want to know what I'm thinking" Why don't you ask instead of assuming you already know me, which you obviously don't."

She stared into his eyes, feeling her skin flush with quiet resentment at the scolding he was handing down to her. "What am I supposed to think?" she asked, quite seriously. "You show up in my bed, you don't think twice about letting me screw you, and then the first thing you say is that you should go. What am I supposed to take away from that, that you want to stay' If you want me to know what you're thinking, Michael, you should say it straight out. Don't hide behind platitudes and excuses, and things that you think you should say. I don't give a crap anymore about the stupid pretending to be something you're not. If you want to stay, then just say it. If you want to go, say it. But don't expect it not to hurt."

"What do you want from me, Elena" You want me to replace one addiction for another for you? Have you thought about how that makes me feel" Yeah, I know....I agreed. What do you expect me to say when the girl of my dreams wants to screw me" Think I'm gonna say no' I had a moment of weakness. I lost control. It's not that I don't want you. God, you're so blind you can't even see what?s right in front of you." He huffed, all out of breath and feeling suddenly weak and dizzy. He reached for the closest thing to grab onto, which just so happened to be the wall, to steady himself. I need a drink, he thought to himself, and then thought better of it. "Have you got any coffee?"

She seemed to get smaller as he spoke to her, stepping backward under the weight of shame having her selfish, cruel actions brought out and waved in front of her. And even though she was turning inward, she still reached to help him as he steadied himself on the wall, murmuring a soft apology for doing so as her hands fell to her sides once again. "That wasn't why I did it." It was whispered, her voice thick for a moment with all the distress of knowing she'd messed up yet again. She swallowed, taking another step back. "Yeah, there's coffee. I'll ....I'll go put the pot on. There's clothes for you on the end of the bed." Turning away, she snatched up a handful of jersey and denim from the bed for herself and moved toward the door, which opened onto a set of stairs leading upward.

He closed his eyes a moment as he waited for the room to stop spinning, barely aware that she'd reached for him in his distress. His mind registered her statement, but he hardly had time to ask what she meant by it before she was already gone, already retreating from his side. Had he misunderstood her motives" He sighed again, not wanting to hurt her or cause her any pain or make her angry. He wasn't even sure what the hell he was doing here. Had she heard a single goddamned word he'd said" His own thoughts turned inward, thinking it was probably better if they just went their separate ways. They were only going to cause each other pain. Just like before.

"I'm an idiot," he muttered to himself. What man in his right mind walked away from a woman as drop dead gorgeous as Elena De Luca" Why should he care what she wanted him for" Wasn't it enough that she wanted him' He crossed the short space to the bed, dropping down heavily, as if his legs would no longer support his weight. If all of this was real and not just the product of an insane mind, then there had to be a reason he was here. He just had to figure out what that reason was.

It seemed a long time before she came back downstairs. A long time to think over everything that had passed between them in so short a time, to cry and rage at herself, to take a hard look at herself and hate what she saw yet again. What did she possibly have to offer anyone, if even a virtual stranger who'd fancied her for years couldn't wait to get away' It was just like Papa all over again; just like Tony, and Tess, and 'Taya. Elena didn't fit; she wasn't good enough for anyone to risk taking a chance on her. But when she came back down to the bedroom, the tears were dried, the anger gone, the clothing she'd taken with her on her body. Her face was blotchy with the evidence, but at least she wasn't crying anymore.

She set a tray down on the dresser, gently tapping the cream jug with a fingernail. "I, uh, I don't know how you like it, so ....it's all there," she offered quietly, moving past on bare feet to pull a packet of cigarettes from a drawer and light up. Breathing the smoke in, she dropped the packet and lighter near him in silent offering, and moved to stand on the bed, opening the tiny window that was just above the level of the garden lawn outside.

As for himself, it was as if he'd hardly moved at all between the time she'd left and the time she'd come back. He was still sitting on the bed wrapped in just a towel, staring blankly at the bottle on the bedside cabinet that was calling to him, wanting it almost as much as he'd wanted her. It was a different kind of addiction, the need for a drink, more physical than mental. With her, it was different. He wanted something more from her than just a physical relationship, and that was where they seemed to differ. She only seemed to want to use him, but he wanted so much more than that, more than he thought she was able or willing to give. Both of them were damaged in their own ways; both of them unable to realize they were more alike than they seemed.

He blinked out of his thoughts as he realized she'd returned, the pack of smokes yet another temptation, another addiction he didn't feel strong enough to overcome. He glanced from the cigarettes to her, watching as she pried open the window, shuddering at the rush of cold air that swept into the room. "You really think that's going to fool anyone?" he asked, assuming she was opening the window so whoever lived there with her wouldn't catch a whiff of the cigarettes she must have been sneaking.

"They know I smoke," she assured him, dropping back down onto her knees on the bed they had vacated barely an hour or so ago. "Just so long as I don't give any to the kid, I'm allowed. I'm just not allowed to drink." She grimaced, pulling an ashtray from under the bed and setting it down beside him. Herself, she settled behind him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders as she gently kissed his cheek, whispering, "I'm sorry." And this time it was heartfelt; she truly meant it, not just saying the words because they needed to be said.

His eyes followed her as she climbed down off the bed and took a seat beside him, the chip on his shoulder mellowing at her apology, which despite his recent hurt, he thought was unnecessary. "I should be the one apologizing. I drop in here unannounced. I'm still not sure how it happened, by the way, or if this isn't just my mind finally snapping." He glanced at the cigarette and the smoke swirling from her mouth and nose, craving a hit of something that would ease the pounding in his head. Some part of his seemed to realize she'd been crying, and he inwardly hated himself for hurting her in any way, no matter whose fault the argument had been. He turned away to get dressed, easing a pair of shorts on over his bare legs. "You know, I was gonna call you. I picked up the phone to call you a dozen times or more."

Her lips twitched toward a smile that didn't quite make itself known, the hunted look in her eyes softening when it became clear he'd accepted her apology. "It's probably best that you didn't," she told him reluctantly, flicking ash into the ashtray as she watched him move to dress. "You think I'm bad now ....I was worse, then. I wouldn't just have broken your heart; I'd've ripped it out and stomped it into your face, and I wouldn't have known I was doing anything wrong. Believe it or not, this is the new improved me." The tone was drawlingly sardonic, bitingly self-deprecating as she gestured to herself, stretching her long legs out across the bed. "You want one?" she asked then, offering him the packet.

He moved to his feet to pull the shorts up beneath the towel before he pulled the towel away, feeling awkward and shy for some reason now that the passion had cooled, along with the bath water. Now that she had a clear view of him, she might notice that he was in decent shape for a guy with an addiction to alcohol, and was sporting several tattoos, one on his right bicep and another on his ribcage. He gave neither a second thought, as much a part of him as his own skin. "You're too hard on yourself," he remarked as he reached for the jeans that didn't fit him quite right but would do for now and pulled them up over his legs, looking over at her as she offered him the pack of cigarettes. "Ever wonder why people always want a smoke after sex?" he asked, as he gratefully reached for the pack.

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 09:04 EST
She'd noticed. She couldn't help noticing, almost ashamed that the attraction was still there, still strong, glad that he was getting dressed. She wasn't entirely sure whether she would be able to stop herself from asking for more. "Not according to my sister," she shrugged, rolling to lie on her stomach, bare feet dangling as her knees bent upward, leaning up on her elbows as they talked. "Tess thinks I'm not hard enough. Tony won't even look at me -" She stopped herself before she could upset either of them again. "Sorry, you don't need me dumping all over you. You're just ....you're easy to talk to." And I haven't had that in a long time. Blowing out a lungful of smoke, she considered the cigarette in her hand. "You know, I read somewhere that the only people who breathe properly - you know, using all their lung capacity - are smokers and people who do meditation. I guess it's a relaxing thing, I dunno."

He shook a cigarette out of the pack and tossed it back onto the bed, having to lean over to fumble to find the lighter that was on the bed somewhere. "I don't mind being dumped on. Makes me forget about my own problems for a while." Besides, like her, he hadn't had anyone to talk to in a long time - not really talk to. His keyboard didn't talk back, and most of his friends and family had given up on him a long time ago. Even his agent never called anymore. I'll call you when I have something worthy of publication, Michael had said. That had been over a year ago. Except for his trips to the bank, the grocery store, the liquor store, the occasional - okay, more than occasional - trip to McDonald's, he was mostly a recluse. A self-proclaimed, self-induced hermit. At least, he still had enough pride not to let himself go completely to hell. Yet.

Elena certainly didn't mind being leaned over. Clean and dry, Michael smelt wonderful, which wasn't doing much for her little problem with keeping her hands to herself. She rolled onto her side, lifting the lighter up and holding it just out of his reach with a teasing little smile, daring him to take offense at a little playful fun. "You know, you can talk to me, too," she promised quietly. "Seems only fair. I really didn't mean to use you like that, I just ....You're right, kinda. Except it wasn't replacing one addiction with another. It goes a lot deeper than that." The lighter rose up over her head, fingers clutching it lightly as she dropped onto her back. "Stop hovering and make yourself comfortable, gorgeous. I promise, Scout's Honor, I won't strip off again unless you leave me no choice." She winked at him, incorrigible in her own way.

He wasn't quite sure who Tess and Tony were, but by the way she was talking about them, he assumed they were family. Family were always the hardest to please, always demanding, never budging an inch. He'd lost his, for the most part. None of them wanting anything to do with him anymore, but maybe she'd been more fortunate than him. At least, it seemed there was hope left for her. He wasn't so sure about himself. "How deep?" he asked, reaching forward to make a grab for the lighter, almost but not quite losing his balance. Thank God she'd gotten dressed. She was far too tempting and distracting the other way around. He tried to hide a painful wince when she called him by that pet name again, placing the cigarette between his lips and flicking the lighter to set the tip glowing. He was trying hard not to notice her flirtation, but it was very hard to miss, mixed signals he wasn't sure what to make of just yet.

Relinquishing the lighter, Elena relaxed, breathing deep as she took another drag on her own cigarette, holding it for a long moment before blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. "Daddy issues deep," she said finally, and bit her lip. Without the blanketing buffer of intoxication that she had lived with for six years, even saying that out loud was painful enough to threaten tears. "I've been screwed up for a long time. Started drinking to make it stop hurting, and now I'm not drinking, I'm hurting again. Figures."

Daddy issues. That could mean most anything. Either he'd been abusive or neglectful, and Michael wasn't quite sure which was worse. At least, when someone was abusing you, they knew you were alive. As much as he claimed to want to be left alone, somehow he thought a neglectful parent might be more heartbreaking to deal with than an abusive one, but he wasn't really sure. His parents had died long before he'd had a chance to disappoint them. He took a long drag from the cigarette, letting it fill his lungs with carcinogenic smoke. He knew he should quit. He knew one of his two vices was going to get him someday, if he didn't do something about it, but he wasn't sure he cared. He withdrew the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a stream of smoke, leaning forward to lay the cigarette to rest in the ashtray while he finished getting dressed. He snagged the plain white t-shirt off the bed and pulled it on over his head. "Doesn't make it stop hurting, Elena," he countered. "Just makes you numb for a little while."

"Yeah, well ....at least being numb stopped me from wanting to break my sister's nose every time she looks down it at me," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. Her head tipped to let her watch him dress, her back arching in the process. "Long story short' I was a Daddy's girl. Daddy left home on my tenth birthday and hasn't been seen or heard of since. Multiply by age and frequency of delinquent behavior, and you have my issues."

Oh, so that was it, he thought with a frown. She'd thought he was walking out on her, just like her father had. He studied her silently a moment as she gave him the abridged version of her life story. Very abridged. There was a story there somewhere. He'd have to think on it later. "Maybe something happened to him. Maybe he wanted to come home, but couldn't." He figured her and her family and the cops had probably been over all that already, but he just couldn't bring himself to believe that any man in his right mind would willingly walk away from the love and support of a proper family. But what the hell did he know about it anyway' His story was far different from hers. He tugged the t-shirt down over the top of his jeans and searched for the tray of coffee she'd brought from....upstairs, he realized. Were they in the basement"

"I'd like to think that," she sighed softly, twisting onto her side to stub out her cigarette, rubbing her fingers over her eyes to check for any imminent tears. She'd hit him with a pillow, bathed him, screwed him and yelled at him; crying on him would probably be the final straw. "I did think it for a long time. And then Mama got tired of me asking, and showed me the divorce papers. He'd been cheating on her, and when I looked into it, I found out that he was married to a girl half his age who was expecting his baby. He walked away from us." She lowered her eyes, biting hard into her lower lip for a long moment before letting out a shuddering breath. "He walked away from me."

He'd been about to retrieve his cigarette and start on that cup of coffee that was most certainly getting cold, but thought better of it, turning back to her as she continued her story, sensing that she needed to tell someone, anyone, and it might as well be him. He remained where he was, despite the desire to wrap her up in his embrace again, afraid where that might lead. He wasn't sure he could handle kissing her again, knowing her kiss meant nothing. "It's not your fault, Elena," he ventured gently, trying to muster as much warmth as was possible, as much comfort as he dared. No wonder she was angry. And every man she'd met ever since had probably done the same thing. It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy that she was just waiting to happen, again and again.

Over and over. Well, he wasn't her father, and he wasn't going to just walk away. He could have given her a hundred different cliched responses to her confession. He didn't deserve you. He was a bastard who only cared about himself. You're better off without him. But somehow he knew she'd heard them all before and that none of them would ever ease her pain completely. "I'm sorry," he told her after a moment, unsure what he was apologizing for exactly. Maybe for all the men who'd ever hurt her, starting with her father and ending with him.

That was the strange thing about Elena. Her kiss didn't mean nothing; it meant everything. It was the beginning of something, the hopeful, exhilarated start that inevitably ended in tears and pain, be it a day or a year later. And yet, no matter how many times she was knocked back ....her kiss still meant everything. She sighed, propping her head on her hand as she looked over at him, resting her other arm against her hip. "It's not your fault, either, Michael," she told him regretfully. "You shouldn't have to feel as though you need to apologize for him and every other man like him." A second sigh escaped her in a rush as she knocked herself down onto her back once again.

"Anyway, after Papa left, Tony - that's my big brother - he tried to take over, but all I wanted was Papa. And when I started dating, I'd jump into every new boyfriend expecting them to fill the hole and falling in love real fast, and none of them measured up. Even when I was drinking, I kept making the same mistakes. But I'm still hoping, you know? Maybe there's a guy out there who can help me fix myself." She snorted with self-deprecating laughter. "If he can put up with me long enough."

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 09:07 EST
He continued to watch her from where he stood on unsteady legs that were somehow still managing to hold him up, listening as her story slowly unfolded. He felt a wave of sympathy for her suddenly, slowly rising, making his heart swell with unanticipated emotion. It wasn't lost on him that he wasn't that guy she was looking for, that he couldn't be that guy. If he was, she would have said so, wouldn't she" No, he wasn't good enough, never would be good enough. He was nothing more than an easy f*ck and a willing ear. "Yeah, maybe there is," he agreed, reluctantly.

"I'm sure there is," he added quickly, hoping to cover his own pain at the knowledge that she was looking for someone he could never be. "You just gotta, you know, find him. That's all." He leaned over to quickly pluck the cigarette from the ashtray before it burned out and before she could read the doubt on his face. He slid the cigarette between his lips and stepped back to claim the cup of coffee that must have gone cold by now. Still, caffeine was caffeine, cold or not. "Sounds like your brother is a decent guy. When was the last time you talked?"

"Maybe I already did find him," Elena mused in a depressed tone. "Maybe I hurt him so badly years ago, he doesn't want anything to do with me now. That'd be just my luck." She bit her lip again, one knee rising to plant her foot flat on the bed, blissfully unaware of the allure of long bare legs. The mention of her brother brought fresh pain to her heart, her eyes closing unhappily as she rolled onto her front, hugging a pillow underneath her chin. "Tony's a good guy," she managed in a very quiet voice. "He tried to help me, a long time ago. I threw it all back at him. And now the threat to everyone from Nicoletti ....I haven't spoken to my brother in almost six months. He's so mad at me, he's still in New York. If anything happens to him, it's all my fault." She pressed her face into the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut against the urge for tears. Michael really didn't need her to be weepy.

He withdrew the cigarette from his mouth long enough to take a swallow of the coffee, hoping it would invigorate him at least a little. The bottle of bourbon would have been better, but knowing her weakness for the stuff, he didn't dare drink in front of her. Not yet, anyway. The need wasn't great enough yet. Coffee would just have to do. Hearing her mused admission, he looked back at her, brows furrowed curiously. She didn't mean him, did she" She was just teasing him again, wasn't she" He watched admiringly as she bent her leg, then changed her mind, rolling to hug a pillow to her, as if it would bring her comfort, secretly wishing she was hugging him. "I'm sure that's not true," he told her, hoping to make her feel better, even as he maintained a somewhat safe distance. "Maybe you should call him."

"If he's such a good guy, he'll understand," he continued. It had been a long time since he'd been called upon to comfort someone, and he wasn't quite sure how. He'd never deemed himself very good at it, not realizing that all he had to do was listen, not solve her problems for her. He found a chair, ironically in front of her computer, and claimed it, setting the cup of coffee on the desk beside him as he took another drag off the cigarette. "At least you still have a family who cares about you. That's something, anyway."

"No, it isn't," she disagreed unhappily. "People who care about me get hurt. It'd be better if everyone just forgot I existed. At least then I wouldn't do any more damage." She pushed herself to sit up, swinging her legs around until her toes touched the floor, facing him with her captured pillow hugged to her chest. "You know what I really want?" she asked him softly, hope flaring in her eyes as she looked over at him. "A friend. Someone who needs me the way I need them. Not someone who's looking out for me because it's the right thing to do, someone who doesn't trust me to make the right decisions for myself." She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "It's a big ask." Drawing a second cigarette to her lips, she looked over at him, wondering why he'd chosen to sit himself so far away from her. Had she really done so much damage in a single afternoon' "You talk like you're all alone. That ....that's really sad."

He winced a little, using the cigarette to mask his feelings, turning his head aside to blow out another mouthful of smoke, some inhaled, some not. "I kinda thought we'd already skipped past friends," he remarked, his body still echoing with the memory of their brief but passionate few moments in the bathtub. "Friends with benefits or just friends?" he queried further, not really liking the sound of either, but if they were going to have any kind of relationship, it had to start somewhere. "Why's it sad?" he asked, pressing her to realize she wasn't all that different from him. "I can't disappoint anyone if there's no one to disappoint. Can I?"

"It's so lonely." She eyed him through the smoke of her own cigarette, sad for him, for the fact that he didn't seem to know what he was missing out on. "I mean, I'm a disaster area, and I hurt everyone, but ....I'll always have Mama. And even if Tess and 'Taya don't like me, they're prepared to put up with all the bullsh*t because I'm their little sister." She concentrated for a moment, blowing a delicate series of smoke rings before she grimaced. "I hate that phrase, 'friends with benefits'. It sounds so trashy, almost as bad as f*ck buddies." Her lips quirked into that hopeful little smile once again. "But, if I have to choose ....and if you're okay with it ....friends with benefits. Emphasis on the friends part."

Friends don't let friends... He cut off his line of thought before it completed itself, a frown on his face, wondering if she really knew what she was asking him. He took another pull from the cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, before pulling it away from his lips. "You wanna know how I got here?" he asked, seemingly changing the subject, though there was a method to his madness. He leaned forward to reach for the ashtray so he could snuff out what remained of the cigarette. "I got mugged." He shrugged, as if that part of the story meant little.

The change of subject did confuse her a little, but she kept her objection quiet. She'd learned the hard way to let him express himself quite recently, after all, though there would no doubt be more occasions filled with angry words and tempers if he took up her tentatively hopeful proposal. She frowned at his dismissive beginning to his explanation. "Ouch. Go on."

"It's still a little hazy, but..." He crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray and leaned back in his chair, brows furrowing as he tried to put into words the fragments of memory that had preceded his arrival wherever the hell he was now. "I remember lying in the rain. Freezing rain. The kind you know is gonna turn to ice. My head hurt. More than it does now. I think I was bleeding. I'm not sure. Like I said, it's kinda hazy." He paused to take a breath or two further gather his thoughts. "I ran out of booze, and I thought I could get to the liquor store before it closed, but..." There was that dismissive shrug again, which told her he hadn't succeeded. "So, I'm lying there in the rain, wondering if I'm dying, hoping I'm dying, and for some reason, I thought of you."

This was possibly the first time Elena had ever just stopped her world to listen to someone else, to take in someone else's story without interjecting with her own problems. She'd always made everything about herself, and yet here she was, listening with full attention to a man she'd never thought she would even hear of again, much less see, after one disastrous date. He had her complete attention long before he mentioned lying in the rain, long before he mentioned her. And when that snippet came out, she felt a part of herself melt just a little. Her expression became impossibly soft, regret for their first meeting filling her even deeper with the realization that he'd never really gotten over it. "You thought of me?"

He rubbed the spot on his head where the mugger had hit him, still wondering how it happened that he was no longer injured. Miracle, magic, illusion. He wasn't sure. "Yeah," he continued, his eyes going slightly out of focus as he thought back on what had happened, not yet noticing how her expression softened and changed. "I don't know why I thought of you. I thought I was dying, I guess. You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes just before you pass on' It was kinda like that. Every mistake I'd ever made, every regret." He stopped, quieted, a faraway look in his eyes, like he was seeing something she couldn't.

Which one was I" A mistake, or a regret" But she couldn't bring herself to ask, to make his story about her, though it seemed to be coming to it anyway. Swallowing, she stubbed out her cigarette, setting the ashtray onto the bedside cabinet, and drew her feet up beneath herself, leaning on one outstretched hand. Will I be a mistake you've made twice after today?

Elena

Date: 2013-01-16 09:10 EST
The moment seemed to stretch on longer than he intended before he finally spoke again, came to the point of the story. It was harder than he thought it would be, and he didn't want her to feel guilty or sorry for him. He wondered if he should even tell her at all. Would it make matters better or worse" He'd come too far to turn back now. If nothing else, she had a right to know what had happened, what he perceived had happened. "I made a wish," he said simply. "I guess you could call it that anyway." He lowered his gaze for a moment as he tried to gather his composure. He didn't want her to see his pain anymore than she'd wanted him to see hers. After another long moment, he drew a deep breath and lifted his eyes to meet hers, tears clinging to the dark fringe of lashes. "I asked for another chance."

She stared at him, that same soft, indescribable expression coloring hazel green eyes as her lips parted in silent amazement. She didn't remember the details of their date, but it must have been appalling ....and he'd wished, five years later, for another chance with her. Maybe she'd done something right. Or maybe the unknown entity her sister called the Nexus figured that they might as well make each other miserable rather than anyone else. "I ....I ..." She stopped her own mouth, pausing to assemble the words before they came out this time. "Do you still want that chance?"

"I don't deserve to ask you that," he replied, making no attempt to hide the pain from his voice or his expression at his own self-deprecation. "My life is a mess. I'm a mess. You..." He gestured toward her with the upturned palm of a hand. "You've managed to clean yourself up. You're straightening your life out. I'm just gonna screw it all up. Make a mess of things again. You're better off without me, Elena." It hurt to say those words, to admit how far gone he was, how hopeless he felt. "I'm not sure I'm worth taking a chance on anymore."

"Do you know how much you sound like me right now?" she asked him, one brow rising with gentle humor. "Look, we're pretty alike. I've messed up badly, and I'm still messing up. It sounds like you have the same problem. So maybe ....maybe, since we're messed up on our own, we can fix each other?" She dropped her feet from the bed, setting her pillow aside, and rose, padding over to where he sat, leaning down with her hands curled to the back of the chair he sat in. Nose to nose, she looked him right in the eye. "You're not the one asking," she told him firmly, taking the plunge with the near fatalistic hope that was all that had kept her from falling completely apart over the years. "I'm asking you. Do you still want that chance?"

Nose to nose with her, forced to look her in the eye, he couldn't look away, couldn't avoid her gaze, couldn't hide the pain he was feeling, the loneliness, the hopelessness. How had he become what he was" Wasn't it only a few years ago that he seemed to have such a bright future ahead of him' He blinked and the tears that had been threatening since he'd first woken up in her bed spilled over onto his cheeks. He wasn't crying just for her, but for both of them. Sadness and hope, both mingled in that moment. One couldn't know one without the other. "Yes," he whispered, nodding his head, unable to say anything further without his voice breaking.

"Then I'll make you a deal." Her voice was soft as she spoke, ignoring the rise of her already short skirt as she shifted to straddle his thighs, drawing her hands from the chair to smooth over his shoulders, gentle but firm fingers cupping his jaw as she held his gaze. "You get clean. You stay clean for me. I'll stay clean for you. But this isn't gonna happen overnight. I wanna know you. I want you to know me. And I don't wanna lose a friend if this doesn't work out. Friends first, always." Her thumbs stroked over his cheeks as she looked into his eyes, hopeful and wary in the same moment. "D'you think we can do it?"

His hands automatically settled unthinkingly against her hips as she climbed into his lap, not quite noticing the rise of her skirt as his eyes were momentarily fixed on hers. He felt his heart swell again, this time with the kind of hope he hadn't felt in a very long time. Whatever Fate had brought him here seemed to know what it was doing. He felt more hope in that moment than he'd felt in years. Even so, he couldn't lie to her. He knew it wouldn't be easy, and he knew they might fail again and again before they succeeded, if they succeeded. He'd tried so many times on his own, only to fail. Maybe with her help, maybe if she believed in him, maybe. It took a moment before he found his voice, swallowing down the tears that were still threatening. "I-I don't know, but I have to try."

"You can do it." Whether she believed that or not, Elena knew the power of having just one person seem to have faith. For her, that person had always been Mama. For Michael, she was surprised to find herself brave enough to try and take that role on herself. Her lips touched his gently. "You can do it," she promised him, brushing another kiss there after the words were done. "We'll do it together." Another kiss, each one gently teasing him to let go of the memory of failure and look with hope toward success. Hope was what had kept her going for years; if she could give him a little of that, perhaps she was on her way to making amends for all the despair she'd spread around in the past.

Friends, she had said. No friend had ever made him feel the way that she did, but who was he to argue" He'd made a wish, and his wish had been granted by whatever powers had deemed him worthy of redemption. It wasn't just about him; it was about her, too. She had asked him to save her, and he had agreed. How could he turn his back on her now" Especially, now that she'd agreed to save him in return. Or at least, to try. It was more than he could have ever hoped for. And if he lost his heart along the way, well, he'd just have to deal with that when and if the time came. He said nothing in return, filled with mingled hope and terror, but wasn't that what life was all about, after all" No one could know what the future would bring. There would be tragedy and triumph - it was all part of life. You could either chose to lose yourself in the tragedy and admit defeat, or rise up and fight for your own future. Today, it seemed they'd both made an important choice - they'd chosen to live.

((Yanno, I think this one is going to go on my list of favorite scenes ever played out. Always good to flex the tragedy muscles now and then. :grin: Many, many, MANY thanks to the uberlicious, superfabulous handler of Michael!))