“Isabel.” Maria said coldly over her shoulder as she locked the door. “How was your trip?”

“It was good. A little turbulence, but all in all, okay.”

“Uh huh.” Maria turned around and buttoned her coat. “I have to go pick some things up. I guess I’ll see you around.” She dug her hands in her pockets and started to walk away.

Isabel took a deep breath and quickly ambled to catch up with her. “Michael came to talk to me.”

“Yeah.” Maria uttered unemotionally – not quite a question, not quite anything.

“He told me you convinced him to.”

“Well,” Maria said, looking straight ahead. “I thought that you could help him – you’re the ones with the ‘connection,’ right? I sure as hell can’t do anything for him.”

Isabel grimaced. With Maria, there was no such thing as water under the bridge. “He went to you.”

“He had nowhere else to go.” Maria shot back.

“You can’t believe that,” Isabel shook her head.

“Listen, I don’t know what to believe anymore. I haven’t known what to believe since the day that Liz got shot.”

“Maria.”

Stopping, Maria turned to really look at Isabel for the first time. “Isabel, I’m really tired. I have spent this entire day analyzing every minute detail since he came into my store, and then some. I can’t do it again. Every time that I let him in and start getting all involved, something comes along to remind me that I don’t belong in his life. Whether it’s you, or his quest, or whatever – the message is loud and clear – I’m not one of you.” She smiled bitterly. “And you know what? That’s okay. I can deal with that – I have to. It’s a lesson ten years in the learning, but I think I’ve finally come to accept it. Now, I’m going to the store so that I can get something to make for dinner. And I’m going alone.”

**

The doorbell rang as Maria was putting the last of the pots in the sink. She dried her hands off on a towel and slowly started down the stairs, with as much anticipation as a convict walking death row.

“You.” She stated apathetically.

“Yeah, me.” Michael said, baffled by her greeting. This morning she’d been friendly and warm. Now she was back to being cold and distant.

“Mmm Hmmm…” Maria headed back up the stairs.

Michael closed the door and followed, finding her straightening up the kitchen. “So, um…”

Maria looked up for a second as she separated small piles of papers and things on the center table. “Yeah.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Dropping her head, she laughed to herself sardonically. “Of course you are.” She placed everything into one large pile and picked it up to move over to the counter. Her shaking hands betrayed her coolness, her fingers couldn’t hold onto everything and it all fell. Michael watched as papers, trinkets and coloured pieces of wood flew across the tile.

Maria dropped to her knees, trying to gather everything back together. She stopped when she came to an oddly shaped piece of wood. Her forefinger traced over it gently, drawing Michael’s attention. He realized what had stilled her so. The napkin holder. He stepped forward to help her clean up.

“NO!” She yelled, her head still down.

“Maybe I can… do something.” He said weakly.

“You’ve already done enough.”

“Maybe Max can fix it.”

Maria looked up at him, tears threatening to spill over. “Max can’t fix this one.” She reached for some other stray pieces of Michael’s gift and gathered them in her arms, standing up.

“Is it completely~”

“Broken,” she finished. “It’s completely broken.”

“I’m~”

“Why did you come here?” Maria asked Michael, the third time he’d been asked that question since he’d gotten into town.

“I told you… Lydia~” He tried to explain.

“No.” She shook her head. “Here. To me. Why did you come to see me tonight? Why didn’t you just leave?”

Michael leaned back against the sink. “I… Well…” He paused, thoughts swirling in his head. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

“You didn’t last time.”

“I know. I didn’t want it to be like that.” He edged closer towards her, but she moved away. “And you probably won’t believe me – but I’ve felt horrible about it ever since. I never seem to do the right thing. I always screw it up. I’m not perfect.”

Smoothing her hair down, Maria looked back up at him. “I never wanted you to be perfect. I liked you the way you were. I like things that are…” Her gaze dropped to the table, and the assorted pieces of wood and spring. “Broken.” The word came out in a sob, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Maria,” Michael whispered, walking over to her.

“No! No!” She screamed at him. “It’s not fair. You come in and just rip me apart in three days. It’s like everything that I went through, all the walls I built back up meant nothing. And now you are leaving again. And I’m going to worry about you all over again. I’m going to worry if you are okay, how you are sleeping, if you are still calling out for me. And I’m going to sit up nights wondering why it’s *me* that you are calling out for. And I’m going to wonder if you miss me. And I hate it.” Her burning eyes glared at him. “I hate it. I hate that I care about you. I hate that I worry about you. I hate that after all this time I still love you. I hate it.” Angry tears flowed steadily down her cheeks. It was like five years of anguish and pain ripped through her at breakneck speed. Her entire body was shaking, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

“I know.” Michael stood a few inches from her now, wanting to touch her, hold her – but fearing her reaction. “Maria…”

Covering her face with her hands, the blonde shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no,” she repeated almost inaudibly under her wrenching sobs. This was the last thing she wanted – to let him see her cry. But as he approached, Maria didn’t move, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, hugging her to his chest. Michael stroked her hair, taking in all her anger and pain. After a few minutes, a new calm swept over them both.

Maria stepped away and wiped her eyes. “Michael?”

“Yeah?” He touched her cheek.