Slowly, he released Maria and she rolled onto her back. The wrinkles of his shirt were pressed into her cheek and her hair was all matted down on one side. Michael smiled, and reached up to remove one of the small pins that was sticking out perpendicular to her head.

“Hey.” Her eyes fluttered open, looked at him, then closed again.

Slowly, the truth of the situation dawned on him – why Maria was in bed with him, why Isabel was curled up against him on the other side. He rested his hand on her stomach and leaned over into her ear. “I called?”

“I came.”

That was it. That’s all she could say? Maria didn’t even look at him, she just answered as nonchalantly as if she’d been asked if she wanted fries with that. Remembering that he was *supposed* to be angry with her, Michael moved his arm and laid it on his side. “I’m still mad, you know. And~”

“Oh, shut up, Michael.” Maria interrupted, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Later, you can yell at me all you want, but I’m exhausted right now.”

“Fine.”

Now she was awake. That boy was determined to keep her from sleeping, wasn’t he? Michael never needed as much sleep as she did, but at least in the past he’d go to bed much later than she would, so they’d wake up around the same time. Not that he was that much fun in the morning, anyway. Maria snickered at the thought of him, groggy and disheveled, walking around his apartment and moping.

“What?” Michael was getting annoyed. First she tells him to shut up, now she’s laughing at him?

A silly grin made its way across Maria’s face, although her eyes remained shut. “Nothing, really. I was just thinking that you were always such a grump in the morning.”

“I was not.” He said indignantly.

“Ohhh… okay. *Sure.*”

Michael snorted in response. There was something about that tone he’d always loved. Actually, he loved her voice in general. It was passionate, soothing, and teasing – a few other things too, but they were indescribable. Sometimes only one emotion would take center stage, but more often than not, it was a mix of several – and he was so proud when he could tell how she was feeling just by the way she was speaking. He could tell when she was hiding something, when she needed him to bring it out, and when she just needed to be left alone. Michael scooted down, a little closer to Maria. “So, I kept my part of the bargain.”

“Your part of the bargain?”

“I talked to Isabel. Now… you have to tell me why you keep doing this. Being here.”

Maria turned her head and looked at him for the first time. Her hand tucked one of the many errant pieces of hair behind his ear, then slid down to cup his face. “Do you really have to ask?”

Closing his eyes, Michael shook his head, trapping her hand between his cheek and shoulder.

“Will you two either shut up or leave?” Isabel’s low grumble erupted from the other side of the bed. “What time is it anyway?” She looked at her watch from under swollen lids. “It’s six a.m., people. Go back to sleep. Now. Before I kill both of you.”

Maria’s eyes grew wide, and Michael pressed his forehead to hers. Their silence didn’t last long, though, and soon they broke up into hysterical laughter like scolded children. Michael crawled over her and stood on the side of the bed. He grabbed Maria by the hand and pulled her out of the room, her giggles trailing down the hall.

**

“They have nothing.”

“That’s not true. See… fruit and vegetables and eggs and~”

“God, they even have healthy cereal.”

“It’s Max and Liz. What do you expect?”

Elbowing Michael out of the way, Maria reached into the refrigerator and grabbed an apple. She left him staring hopelessly at the contents, and sat back into one of the dining room chairs. “So, what are you gonna make me?”

“Make *you*?” He scoffed, popping his head above the door.

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “If I’m going to have nights like this, well then I expect some kind of gourmet breakfast in the morning, buddy.”

“You’re going to milk this for all it’s worth – aren’t you?”

“Mmmm…” Maria took a bite of her apple and studied the ceiling. “Only when I’m hungry. Or my back hurts from sitting in uncomfortable positions all night. Or my feet need to be rubbed. Or my apartment needs to be cleaned…”

As she rattled on, Michael leaned on the refrigerator door, watching Maria count off the numerous ways he could ‘repay his debt to her.’ There was something almost perverse in the glee she was taking in the situation – and his predicament. He wasn’t used to waking up with someone so strangely jovial after a night obviously filled with terror and cries. Usually, he found them either across the room, staring wide-eyed in disbelief and fear – or curled up on a couch, refusing to let him come near. After the first few times, Michael learned to sleep alone. No matter how exhausted he might be, he’d drag himself back to his apartment and cover himself in blankets – hoping that the pillows would muffle his wailing.

Lydia was the first one to make him stay. Even after he’d explained about his night tremors, she still insisted. But she reacted the way they all did – pulling away from him, keeping a ‘safe’ distance. A few days later, she came by his apartment unannounced – Michael hadn’t expected to see her again. In the doorway she stood awkwardly, then reached out to touch his face and kissed him… then spent the night. It was from her that he found out what had been going on – as much as she could bring herself to describe. And on the mornings that he’d torn the bed apart, sheets soaked through with sweat – he woke up next to her.

But it was never like she was happy to be there in the morning. She’d comfort him, kiss his head, rub his back – always with a sense of separation. Soon the questions about Maria started in – and his refusal to give her a suitable answer only reinforced their distance. Yet the one he ran from – and kept running from – she held him close, only regretting that she wasn’t able to hold him close enough. Maria had no warning, and no real reason to even let him stay with her that first night. While his anger had subsided a little, she knew that he was still quite upset – that his trust in her was shaky –still she came when he needed her.

“Maria?” He asked tentatively, surprised by how high his voice sounded.

“Uh huh?” Maria looked over, temporarily pausing her list compilation. Her feet were perched on the chair next to her, knees bent so that her elbows could lean against them. Random pieces of hair were sticking out from all sides of her head, her lipstick was slightly smeared below her mouth and her clothes were all rumpled and disheveled. Her bottom lip was set in its predisposed pout, and her eyes were squinting to keep out the light of the rising sun. If he could, Michael would keep her like that forever. That which he could not fully comprehend in the bed moments earlier, he clearly understood now. Because for the first time, Michael let himself accept the truth that he’d been running from since… since he could remember.

She loved him. No matter what.

“Ummm… how do you want your eggs?”

“Sunnyside up. And don’t cook them too long – I hate it when you don’t leave the yolks runny.” Leaning over, she pointed at something behind him. “They should have bread there – and the toaster is on top of the fridge. Buttered – lots – and not margarine. I know they have butter – I just brought some over last week.”

Michael opened the door wider and took out the carton of eggs. Looking for the bread, he turned his back to Maria, so that she couldn’t see the grin plastered to his face. Five years pass – and nothing changed. Or at least, nothing defining about her changed. She still ate her eggs the same way, still complained about the way he cooked, still…

“So, how long do your, um, episodes last? I mean, when I’m not around?”

…had no qualms with bringing up uncomfortable subjects. Dropping a pat of butter into the frying pan, Michael shrugged. “Not sure, really. I think an hour – maybe two? That’s what Lydia said.”

“Ah. How many times has she seen you go through them?”

“Enough. In the beginning, she even tried to get me to go to some hypnotherapist – to see what was causing them. Like I could actually let someone put me under. Who the hell knows what I would have said…” He cracked an egg and poured it into the pan. “I said that I went once, but that it wasn’t for me.”

“She, uh, Lydia – she really cares about you.” Maria played with the salt and pepper shakers on the table.

“Mmmmm… yeah.”

It wasn’t working. Gentle prodding had never been Maria’s strong suit. Direct and headstrong – that’s what she was. Part of her wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he told her everything he knew – about his dreams, his life, whatever. But Michael still seemed bewildered by his own inability to comprehend what was going on inside his head – the last thing he needed was a shrieking pixie getting in his face.

“An hour or two? Wow. And I can imagine that she – or the-other-multitudes-of-women-that-you’ve-‘spent the night’-with – were all that thrilled with hearing you call out my name.”

“Subtle, Maria.” He chuckled under his breath.

“What? What? What? I’ve been good.” The blonde wrinkled her nose, her words rushing out in a flurry. “And it hasn’t been easy. You have to give me that I’ve been good.”

“Yes, you have – and I’m grateful for it. Really.” Michael slid the egg out onto a plate and poked at its yoke with his finger. It had cooked too long – she’d complain. Sighing, he cracked two more, determined to pay better attention this time. “And, no – she wasn’t. In fact, you have long been a source of contention between Lydia and me. Well, between me and the not-so-many-women I’ve shared bed space with.” A small smile grew as he watched the egg whites begin to bubble. “I don’t think that you have much of a fan club, to tell you the truth. My refusal to explain who you are didn’t help things, I’m sure.”

Grunting, Maria sneered at him. “The least you could do is make up some intricate and grandiose tale about the elusive beauty that got away, that you couldn’t handle life without – you know… lie.”

The toast popped up, and Michael buttered it quickly, placing it onto a plate with up-to-Maria’s-par eggs. He walked over and handed Maria her breakfast. “I wouldn’t have to lie. The truth is… well, there are no proportions mythic enough for you.”

“Why?”

“Why are there no proportions~”

“No.” Maria interrupted, her face suddenly serious. “Why do you keep calling for me?”

“I, um…” Stepping backwards, Michael leaned into the counter – hoping it would keep him up. “I don’t know.” They stayed in a deadlocked stare – Michael, desperately trying to hold onto one of the few secrets he had left, and Maria, hurt that he wouldn’t tell her the role that she played in all of this. Determined not to let her big green eyes break him, Michael fixed his gaze on her lips – which, in the past, had been successful when trying to tune out the world. It was working – almost too well. It was only when he smelled something not quite right that Michael felt the burning pain in his right hand. He leaped back, his body shuddering in realization of what he’d just done.

“Oh God!” Maria jumped up from the chair and grabbed his hand, running it under cold water. “Are you okay?”

Michael nodded, in a slight shock. Her small delicate hands held his under the stream, careful not to touch the burned skin. She wrapped one arm around his back when she noticed how pale his face had become. It wasn’t from the pain, really – but more from the knowledge that he’d completely lost touch with everything around him for a short period of time. Michael silently chastised himself for being so stupid. All his life, he was used to being on guard around everyone and everything. Now he had a physical reminder of what could happen when he dropped it.

Maria turned off the water for a moment and brought his palm up to her face. He watched as she examined his hand – neck bent, only the top of her head visible. The smell was back – not the one from moments earlier – but the one from two mornings ago, when he woke up in her bed. That familiar, comforting smell. The smell that used to infiltrate his clothes. Michael felt dizzy, and it didn’t help when she smiled up at him, almost giggling.

“My mom used to do this when I was little. She said they were magic kisses, and would take all the pain away.” Delicately, Maria pressed her lips on the tips of each of his fingers in succession.

His knees felt weak, almost ready to buckle under the pressure of his body which had given up all attempts at maintaining any kind of dignity. The sensation of her soft kisses swirled around with the sweet scent that was now heavy in the room. There were only remnants of his stone wall remaining. “Do you want it back?” he whispered hoarsely.

“What?” She asked, kissing his pinky.

“The ring.”