And I am wanting

And I am needing you here

Inside the absence of fear."

--Jewel Kilcher

*"I can walk away from anybody if I have to."* Not anymore. Not her. Especially not her. I felt her lips on mine in that dream plane. More than anything, I wanted to crawl out of those cobwebs and feel them again. Except Is' had me in a death grip and I couldn't let her go. I knew she needed to hold me. She needed to bring me with her and Maximilian and keep me close this time. So I tried to tell Maria with my eyes. . .I tried to look at her and tell her everything. I'm sorry. I'm an asshole. I think I love you.

Still don't know if she got all of that. I'm not sure I do. Max and Is' are all I've ever had. . .and I don't even let them that close. I keep everybody at arm's length. The chip on my shoulder is the only thing bigger than my mouth, right? I'm not supposed to care, or to love. Sure, making wisecracks is fine. Making out in an eraser room is even finer. But admitting you'd die without people? Whoa. New territory for me. Like the open expanse of the desert with a map drawn on the sand.

I would have died without all of them. Even Liz and that little shit Alex Whitman. But even as I lie here tucked into Max's bed, while Isabel's down in the kitchen pouring Tabasco sauce in soup for me--she doesn't get like this often--all I want to do is flash back to the dream. To Maria's soft mouth. She makes a sap out of me, doesn't she? But she makes a human out of me, too, and that isn't so bad. Not under the circumstances.

There's a quiet knock on the door. Isabel would just barge in with her tray and her Mom routine. Max would be Dad, I guess. "Come in, Maria." Do I sound too eager, losing my cool edge?

"Hi," she whispers, moving in slowly, sliding her hands into her pockets and shifting around from foot to foot. Her eyes are wet. . .mascara tracked down her cheeks. God, she's gorgeous and sexy and so damn sweet.

"Hi." I sit up slowly, trying to get free of the sheets. I feel great, I really do, but Is' is hard to convince. I feel even better now. Like I could fly.

And we stare at each other from across the room. Silence. I can almost hear her heart beating extra fast. This time there's no Isabel hanging onto me. No questions to answer for Max. No funky webs in my hair. No pants on, either, for that matter. But what are pants at a time like this? In the grand scheme of things? When Maria launches herself at me and tumbles me back on the bed and her mouth is on mine and her arms are around my neck and I can't breathe but god it feels so damn good? When I can feel her through my clothes and she's the one all fevered now and I can't get enough of the way she tastes and the way she kisses me like I'm the only man in the world for her?

"Michael. . .oh, Michael. . .I thought--I thought. . ."

Her tears leak down to our lips. . .and I taste the salt as we gasp and try to talk and kiss at the same time. "I know," I tell her. "I know." Her skin and her hair and her legs around my waist. Her hot tongue and her hands. Everything about her. . ."Maria. . .I-I--"

"I know."

There's a crash and a stream of cusswords most people don't think Isabel Evans even knows. No soup for Michael tonight. No more mothering either. But that's all right. I think I've got everything I need right here. Her mouth is even softer in reality than it is in old-Indian-guy-induced dreams.