Silence hung between the two figures as they both gazed down at the girl in the hospital bed.

"How long has she been like this?" Michael finally asked, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"If you mean in the hospital, a week. If you mean dying of heartbreak, I'd say the past six months." All the anger she'd allowed herself to forget while Max held her in his dream-arms was back in full force. But she almost regretted her bitter tone when she saw Michael wince.

Almost.

"I never meant for this to happen," he murmured, stroking Maria's white cheek. "She shouldn't..." he trailed off.

"Well she did," Liz retorted. "She fell for you-- hard. And whatever you did or did not mean to happen is irrelevant." She forced her voice to soften. "All that matters is making her better. Her and the baby."

Michael's hand stilled for a moment, then travelled along Maria's body to join with his other one in clasping her hand. "Baby?"

Liz nodded. "She's pregnant, Michael. Six months."

He closed his eyes. "Oh, God...Why didn't you tell me?"

Liz didn't answer, and Michael didn't press the subject.

"She doesn't show," he murmured.

"Malnutrition."

"God, how long-?"

"I told you, six months."

He winced again. "Please, Liz," he pleaded. "Try to understand."

"I don't see why I should," she replied. "You knew the risks. You knew how vulnerable Maria was. She's one of the strongest people I know, but dammit, she CAN NOT handle being abandoned! Her father left before she even knew him, and she's never taken loss well." She crossed her arms. "And then, in sweeps Michael Guerin, and MY GOD. Here is someone who knows her in and out, who really seems to understand her. She thinks, just maybe, there might be something there. A chance." She glared at him. "And then he up and leaves. Fuck 'em and forget 'em, right, Michael? Get out of town before the sun comes up, and don't even think about the girl whose life you just ruined."

"DAMMIT, LIZ!" Michael roared, his blazing eyes raising to meet hers; quiet melancholy replaced with pure, white hot fury. "Don't BEGIN to assume you know how I think! Don't even TRY to get into my head! Because you will NEVER understand!" His eyes fell back to Maria's face. "She was the only one who ever...really understood me."

Liz felt her anger flicker, quell a bit. There had been real pain in his eyes, his voice. "Then explain to me," she murmured.

His eyes travelled back to hers, and she stopped breathing.

He was crying.

Michael Guerin was crying.

"She wasn't supposed to do this," he whispered. "She wasn't supposed to fall in love with me. She was supposed to fall for a doctor, or a lawyer, someone rich and handsome, who loved her more than his own breath. Who could support her, care for her...worship her." His voice was hoarse with tears still unshed. "Like she deserved," he continued. "She always deserved better than me."

His eyes began to wander the room, looking anywhere but where Liz stood, or Maria lay. "She was going to get married," he said, strong but shaky, "and have three kids-- two girls and a boy." He managed a smile. "And a dog-- a terrier." He sniffed and took a shuddering breath. "They were going to live...in a big white house in the suburbs, behind a white picket fence lined with bushes that flowered all year...so that she could always walk in perfume." His eyes drifted closed, and his head fell forward as he squeezed Maria's delicate hand in a white-knuckled grip. "And she was going to live forever, Liz," he whispered, almost inaudible. "God, she was going to live forever."

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Maria's frail chest, and cried.

For a long moment, Liz was speechless. She had never suspected that beneath his generally gruff exterior, Michael had a poet's soul. Maria had tried to tell her a few times, but she'd somehow never believed it. Until now.

Slowly, all the anger she'd built up like a protective dam against her fear-- her own little hideaway-- began to melt. And she suddenly saw the very human side of the alien in front of her.

She didn't quite know what to do. If this had been Max, or Alex, or even Isabelle, she could have offered some sort of reassurance. But this was Michael. He never showed his emotions-- well, never THIS side of his emotions. How was she supposed to handle this?

Unsure what else to do, Liz reached out a hand to touch his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

And she saw.

She was pretty sure Michael didn't mean to broadcast his thoughts on broadband, but that didn't keep her from seeing them in a flash of images so intense it almost knocked her unconcious.

###Maria was ten years old, playing four-square in the schoolyard. Michael hung back, watching from the branches of a russet-leaved autumn tree.###

###Junior high. Maria and Liz were chatting over their lunch, the former doing most of the talking, gesturing wildly, while Liz laughed. Michael watched, and he smiled.###

###The night of the Festival. The faked car crash. Michael placed his hand on Maria, and a thrill of unchaste pleasure pulsed through him at the feel of her skin against his.###

###A sex-toy motel room. Maria's body was squirming on top of his as she struggled to stand up before Liz, Max, and Isabelle could turn the lights on. Somehow, Michael managed to keep himself from grabbing her shoulders and holding her against him, immobile, so he could breathe her in and drown.###

###A kiss. A simple kiss that was part tease, and part an easing of tension. He meant it to be a quick peck on the lips, but once started, he couldn't stop. Maria's hand slid up his chest, and his heart rate skyrocketed as his own hands wandered. Sweet and spicy.###

###It was dark in the room, but the moonlight filtering through the window illuminated Maria's swollen lips, her dilated green eyes. He wanted to swallow her, fold her into him, meld their bodies into-###

Michael jerked away, and Liz felt the world shudder around her as the flux of images stopped. She tottered backwards as he stumbled away from the bed.

"Don't touch me," he told her, breathless. "Those. . . are mine. Mine and Maria's."

Liz was still dazed. All she could do was nod. Her head started throbbing when she did, and she put a hand to her temple.

Michael must have circled around the bed, because a brief time later, she felt his fingers touch her other temple. There was a warm tingle, like when Max had healed her gunshot wound, and soon the drums in her head stopped pounding. "Better?" he asked.

She nodded, thankful that the pain was gone. "Yeah. Thanks." She looked into his eyes, still red-rimmed. "I'm...sorry, Michael. I've just...It's just been so scary," she told him. "I had to...blame someone." She looked away. "I'm sorry I made it you."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Liz. You haven't said anything I haven't told myself a thousand times already." He turned to look back at Maria. "It IS my fault. I should never have gone to see her that night."

"Don't say that, Michael," Liz said softly. "You gave her the most beautiful memory that night. I know she wouldn't trade that for the world."

"But for her own life? For...our BABY'S life?" He walked away from her, and took Maria's hand again.

Liz walked over to stand beside and slightly behind him. The way his hand cradled Maria's, so tenderly, made her throat clench. "She'll be all right, Michael," she said hoarsely. "You just have to heal her."

He looked over his shoulder at her, and the frustration in his eyes was as strong as her own had been the night Max told her he could not save her grandmother. "I don't know how, Liz," he whispered. "I don't know how to save her."