It was almost sickening how happy he was.

Every night since he and Maria had sat at the park bench on their first official
date, they had returned to the exact same spot and sat in the same position:
side by side, with Michael's arm around Maria and her snuggled up against
him, both staring upward at the night sky. And they spent hours talking.

Okay, Maria did most of the talking, while Michael listened attentively and
threw in a comment every now and then. But it was certainly an improvement
over his past simple grunts and nods.

Years from now, he would recall each conversation with such adoration and
awe that you would think they were discussing the most profound of issues.
In truth, they talked mostly about stupid things, like would you rather, for the
rest of your life, eat nothing but peanut butter or bathe in tapioca. Or Ms.
Hardy and Mr. Krewlick really were going at it in the janitor's closet like the
entire student body speculated. But once in a while, a topic got thrown in
that was more serious than their "would you rather" questions or high school
gossip.

One night, for instance, Michael had suddenly asked her, "Do you remember
anything about your father?"

Maria looked up at him, her chin now resting on his shoulder. "Where'd that
come from?"

"Ever since you talked about your dad at the motel, I've been wondering about
it," he answered. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Maria turned away and rested her cheek against his chest, like she had been
doing in her former position. "It's okay," she replied. "I've never actually met
my dad. He picked up his bags and made a run for it as soon as my mom
told him she was pregnant with me. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly
thrilled at my presence."

"He was an idiot," Michael stated simply, hugging her more tightly to him.

"I like to think so," she replied, some amusement in her voice. Smiling
impishly, Maria said, "Okay, now it's my turn."

Michael groaned.

"Oh, c'mon, I'll give you an easy question," she replied, hitting him playfully.
"Like... what do you like best about the end of the day?"

He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "That's supposed to be an *easy*
question? You couldn't have asked, 'What's your favorite sports team?' or
even 'How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could
chuck--'"

"Answer, buddy," Maria interrupted him.

Michael exhaled. "Well... I guess the best thing about the end of the day
is... " He stared up at the night sky, as if the answer was going to fall from
the heavens. That, or he was purposely stalling so Maria would lose patience
and just forget the question altogether.

She looked up at him, and noted his intense eyes and his lips firmly pressed
together in concentration. After a minute or so, she turned away and
snuggled up against him, letting the silence surround them, only the sound of
an occasional car driving by to provide a momentary noise. She had learned
over the course of the past few weeks, during their time spent together, that it
was best not press Michael. He liked to be alone in his thoughts every once
in a while, and, though it was difficult, Maria was trying to grant that
preference whenever it presented itself.

"The fact that my jacket still smells like you," he finally answered.

Maria grinned. "You like the scent of a woman, eh?" She shook her head.
"You just want to score points."

He feigned hurt. "You think I made up that answer?"

"Didn't you?" she said, poking him in the ribs.

He set out to prove her wrong. "You smell like... like..." Michael struggled to
identify it. "What's that scented lotion stuff you use?"

"Pear," she answered.

"Pear... and strawberry Mentos... and this... other tangy scent..." he
searched for the source of the third fragrance.

"This relaxation oil I've been using for a while," she supplied the answer. "One
of my mom's friends picked it up for me on her tour of the Orient last
summer."

He nodded. "You smell kind of sweet and spicy."

Maria's eyes twinkled with mischief.

Michael's smile widened when he made a realization. "That wasn't
coincidental, was it?"

"After all those years of serving you food at the Crashdown, you don't think I
noticed your little tabasco sauce fixation?"

-----

Isabel looked up from her history notes to see Michael and Maria walk hand in
hand toward the school. Finally, Michael had gotten himself a life, and she
had breathed several sighs of relief. She had even come painfully close to
doing a little victory dance when she had found out about the two of them.
Most likely Michael would now stop bugging her about how "dangerous" it
was for her to date humans. Mostly kidding, she remarked, "Ugh, could they
*get* any cheesier?"

Max looked over his shoulder just in time to see Michael hold open the door
for Maria. He smiled at his best friend's obvious bliss. "They're cute
together," he defended them.

"I feel like they should be in some 1950's-Annette-Funicello-we're-all-so-
happy-and-in-*luv*-let's-go-grab-a-strawberry-malt-after-class- movie," Isabel
replied. "Or on 'Dawson's Creek.'"

"C'mon, they can't be that bad."

"Pacey and Andie, right there."

"How's that?"

"Michael with the 'I'm too good for authority' attitude and Maria with the
endless chatter?" she pointed out. "And then there's the whole Joey and
Dawson 'Will they or won't they?' melodrama. That's easily you and--" Isabel
stopped short when she realized her stupidity.

"Go ahead and finish," Max said, surprisingly calm. "That's easily me and
Liz."

"If it makes you feel any better, Liz is just as miserable as you are," Isabel
replied with a sympathetic tone.

Max sighed. "So, how long did it take for Joey and Dawson to hook up?"

"The first time?" Isabel repeated. She answered with a hesitance, "One
season."

He looked like he was about to die right then and there.

-----

Maria squeezed past several customers and managed to miraculously find her
way into the kitchen. God, she hated afternoon shifts. That's when all the
high school kids and truckers seemed to get an enormous and inhuman
appetite for alien-themed meals. With a tired sigh, she retrieved Order #16
and delivered it to Alex, currently sitting at the counter and engrossed with
what he was reading.

Alex looked up. "Thanks, Maria," he said, sliding his book away. "Only, if
you actually want a tip, you're going to have to deliver the fries that come with
this, too."

Her face blanked for a moment. "Oh, right," Maria finally realized. "I'm sorry,
I don't know where my head's been."

"I could register a guess," Alex said, grinning slyly and glancing toward an
approaching Michael.

Maria, surprised, smiled at the unexpected visitor. "Hey, what are you doing
here?"

"Good food, cute waitresses..." Michael answered.

"And he's hoping to get the Boyfriend Discount," Alex added.

He admitted, "Yeah, actually, I was kind of hoping to grab something to eat
before we left."

Maria asked, a bewildered expression on her face, "Left?"

"Remember, we're going to the movies with Max and Iz at four?" Michael
reminded her.

"I thought you said five," she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Nope, specifically said four," he replied. "I remember because when I told
you this morning, you repeated it back to me. Twice."

Maria mumbled something under her breath as she turned away to grab two
trays of fries from the partition between the kitchen and the counter, and
Michael leaned forward. "What did you say? What's getting worse?"

"It's nothing, it's just..." Just then, Maria winced painfully and steadied herself
by grabbing onto the surface in front of her.

"Whoa there, are you okay?" Michael asked, taking her hand in his.

Alex's eyes widened. "Maria, you're still getting those headaches?"

"*Still* getting those headaches?" Michael turned to Alex. "What do you
mean *still*?"

Alex explained, "She had one a couple weeks ago when she was in the
library with me, and she told me that she's been having them for a while."

"Then they're more than headaches," Michael concluded. "It's more serious if
she keeps having them."

"They could migraines," he suggested. "I mean, those bad boys show
up--"

"Hey!" Maria called out in exasperation, finally getting silence from the two of
them. "Dr. Ross, Dr. Carter, before you diagnose me, may I please remind
you that I'm a big girl and am fully capable of taking care of myself?"

"But--" Alex started.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"Mar--" Michael tried.

"*Fine.*" She handed them two trays of fries and shoved them towards a
booth. "Now go eat."

"Maria--" Alex attempted again.

"I'm okay," Maria said, forcing a smile. "It is just stress, and I can handle it."

But as she leaned over a toilet in the employee bathroom minutes after
escaping their concerned question, she wasn't so sure. Not only she had
been getting those intense headaches, but waves of nausea had begun to hit
her the past few days.

She got up and stumbled toward the sink. Submerging her face into a basin
full of water, she thought to herself, 'It's just the flu... It's just the flu...'

-----

Needless to say, it wasn't the flu.

The night had passed without incident. She had been a normal teenager, she
had gone out with her boyfriend and his friends and had fun, and she had
spent the rest of the night relaying all of the details to her best friend, doing
her best to exclude any mention of Max.

"So, you and Michael," Liz had said delightedly. "This is really going
somewhere, isn't it?"

"Yup," Maria replied, smiling, picking up and fingering the picture Michael had
drawn of her, which she had framed and kept on top of her dresser. "It's
actually going somewhere, which, I have to admit, has got to be the surprise
of the year. Century, rather." She was absolutely giddy with happiness.

But then morning came. And all she could think about was pain. The pain
that enveloped her in a throbbing cocoon of dizziness and confusion. The rest
of her body felt numb, all sensation seemed to be placed on the incredible
ache in her head.

She couldn't get up. She writhed beneath the covers and moaned in agony.
This had been the worse yet.

She couldn't get up.

Amy DeLuca burst into her daughter's room, saying, "Maria, what are you
doing, you're going to be late--" She stopped, her face paled, when saw her
awful condition.

"Mom..." she whispered raspily. Tears came to Maria's eyes. "I hurt... so
bad..."

-----

"Michael, calm down," Max said, trailing behind him. Michael walked into the
Evans' family room and grabbed the cordless phone.

"How can you tell me to calm down?" Michael asked, dialing a sequence of
numbers. "Maria and Liz weren't at school, the Crashdown was closed...
something bad happened, I feel it."

"Who are you calling?" Max asked, unable to stop him.

"Maria's house again," Michael answered. As he listened to the eleventh ring,
he hung up angrily. "Damn it!"

"Give me the phone," Max asked, extending his hand toward him. "I'll call
Liz." It wasn't exactly something he wanted to do, given how things were
between her and him, but at this point, nothing would calm his best friend
down but an assurance from either Liz or Maria or herself.

Michael handed over the phone to him without objection, and Max hesitantly
began to dial the numbers to Liz's cell. Michael shoved his hands into his
jeans pockets and leaned against the back of the sofa, waiting anxiously.

After a moment, the silence in the room was broken when Max said into the
receiver, "Liz, it's Max, I--" He suddenly stopped, and his face took on an
unreadable expression as he listened to her quietly.

After a moment, he looked over at Michael, who immediately straightened up
and walked closer to him to try to hear the conversation. He couldn't make
out anything from the other end of the line, but he knew from Max's
motionless reaction that he shouldn't be expecting good news.

Max listened a little longer before telling Liz, "We'll be there as soon as we
can," and pressing the 'off' button' on the key pad.

"Well?" Michael asked, now reluctant to know what was going on.

-----

Liz sat in an uncomfortable chair in the hospital waiting room, her hands
gripping the metal sides and her red and tired eyes focused on the ragged
beige carpeting before her. Her usually perfect hair was hastily thrown into a
pony-tail and her face was pallid, her brown eyeliner smudged, indicating she
had been crying. She looked horrible. She felt horrible.

Alex stood not far from her, staring out the window. He had not said a word
for hours. When Marie's mom had called the two over to the hospital that
morning and watched as doctors came in and out of Marie's room, they had
lost the desire to speak. Especially when Marie's test results had come in
later that day. They went off to their own separate worlds, to think. To try to
understand and accept what was happening.

"Liz?"

Liz's head whipped around to see Max, Isabel, and Michael quickly
approaching. They looked distressed, scared to death even. Liz, through
heavy sobs over the phone, had not told Max much, just that they were at the
hospital and it'd best to give them all the details in person.

She stood up and tried to smooth out her hair. "Hey," she managed to
squeak out.

Max instinctively embraced her. "How are you?" he said, his tender voice a
welcome sound to Liz's ears.

Pulling away so she could talk, she answered, her voice hoarse, "Not so
good." She looked over at Alex, the others' eyes following her gaze. He still
stood at the window, quiet and subdued, not willing to address anyone. She
turned her attention back toward the trio, and tried to continue. "Maria's
sick."

All three of them paled. "What do you mean?" Max asked.

"She has... she has..." Tears began to form in Liz's eyes again for what
seemed to the thousandth time in the past eight hours. "A tumor."

Isabel drew in a sharp breath. "A tumor?"

Liz nodded, wondering how long it would be before the familiar sobs would
overwhelm her and she wouldn't be able to talk anymore. "There's a... um...
'cancerous growth on her brain stem,'" she answered, repeating the words
that the doctor had told Mrs. DeLuca.

"But they can operate, right?" Isabel said, a frantic tone to her voice. "They
can get rid of it."

Liz shook her head mournfully, large tears flowing down her cheeks.
"Operating would be extremely risky... because..." It was then that she
began to break down and shake uncontrollably, almost collapsing. Max held
her in his arms and tried to soothe her, her cries muffled by the material of his
shirt.

"Because the operation could harm more than it could help," Alex suddenly
spoke up, his voice frighteningly emotionless. He still refused to turn away
from the window, and talked with his back towards them. "The brain stem
controls all the basic life functions, heartbeat, breathing..." He halted for a
second. "If they tried to operate, there's a good chance she die on the table."

Michael, who had remained silent all this time, couldn't take anymore. He left
as fast as his legs could take him.

*Wanna cry for you/ Would it do any good?/ If I rained for you/ It would just be
water/ And the night's with you/ And the storm's in your hand/ And you're
down and you're down/ And I can't lift you...*

Isabel found Michael twenty minutes in some sort of employee break room.
He was in the middle of the floor with his head in his hands, chairs overturned,
various objects scattered about, a couple of foot marks on the wall.

"Michael..." she said, standing in the doorway and unsure what to say.

"Go away, Isabel," were his muffled words.

"You know perfectly well I'm not going to," Isabel replied.

He looked up at her, his eyes reddened and face stained with tears. "She's
dying," he stated simply. "She's dying." He chuckled bitterly. "Figures, you
know. The one good thing I have in my life."

"Michael, we can heal her," Isabel said, rushing towards Michael and kneeling
beside him. Her face was flushed with color, hopeful at the possibility. "Like
Max healed Liz."

He looked at her incredulously. "You don't think I've already considered that?"
he replied. "Look, if removing the tumor through surgery is 'extremely risky,'
then I don't even want to know what serious damage we could do if we tried to
get rid of it ourselves." Her face fell as he said these words. "She's dying,
Isabel. And we can't do a thing."

Isabel stared at him, surprised at his pessimistic view. "She's not dying,
Michael," she said. "I can't believe you've given up on her already. You of all
people."

Michael looked away, his face adopting his infamous stoic expression. "Just
go away, Is."

Isabel made no move to leave at first, but when a heavy silence had filtered
into the room, she gave up and began to walk away reluctantly.

Michael watched her retreating form, and he was once again alone in the
room.

*I'm powerless to change your world/ I'm powerless to stop the hurt/ But I'll
give you my heart, give you my shoulder/ I'll give you my heart, give you my
shoulder...*

"Here you go," Max said, handing a styrofoam cup of water to Liz and sitting
next to her.

Liz gratefully accepted it. "Thank you," she said, taking it to her lips.

Max glanced at Alex, who had since changed his position and was now
sitting in a far-off corner of the room and was watching the news, his face
vacant. "Is he going to be okay?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Liz admitted sorrowfully.

He focused her eyes on hers again. "Are you going to be okay?"

She scratched the cup with the edge of her fingernail, and quietly replied, "I'll
be okay once I know Maria's okay."

"You haven't seen her at all?"

"Visitors aren't allowed yet," she explained. "They're still running some
tests..." She choked on the words, and wondered if she'd ever stop crying.

Max placed an arm around her shoulder and brought her closer to him. "You'll
get to see her soon, I'm sure," he told her reassuringly, kissing her gently on
the forehead.

Liz looked up at him, her large brown eyes not only filled with sorrow, but with
confusion as well. "Why are you being so wonderful? Why are you even
here?"

Max leaned in closer to her. "Because you need me," he answered softly.
"Because I need you."

Liz smiled a sad smile, and placed her arms around him, hugging him tightly
like she had wanted to all do these past days and nights.

*Wanna run for you/ Would it do any good?/ If I flew for you/ You would still be
standing/ And it's hard watching/ 'Cause I'm part of you/ And it's hard not to/
Not to know what I can do...*

The car was silent. Alex's gaze was fixed upon the road in front of him, and
Isabel sat quietly in the passenger's seat. Later that night, after he had
announced that he was leaving to the group, Isabel had asked him if he could
give her a ride home. She wanted Max to stay with Liz, Michael had
wandered off again, and, try as she might, she wasn't much help to anyone.

Isabel looked over at him, trying to decide what to say. Every now and then,
the headlights of a car on the other side of the road would bathe his face in a
soft, yellow light, and Isabel would see his somber eyes, his lips in a tight,
grim line. She hated seeing him hurt. She barely knew him, but she tore up
inside at the pain that was so evident in him.

"I'm sorry about Maria," Isabel said, breaking the silence. "I know she's a
good friend of yours."

He didn't respond. After a minute had passed, Isabel gave up on hearing a
reply, but suddenly his voice appeared.

"She's more than that," he said, his tone dispirited. Isabel's heart ached at
the sadness she hear in him. "I mean, Maria, Liz, and I... we've known each
other since grade school. We were practically triplets back then, always with
each other and doing everything together. I mean, I was invited to all the
sleepovers. That is, until we hit puberty." Alex chuckled at the memory, but
soon his voice became melancholy again. "They're like my sisters. I would
do anything for them. And I..." His voice began to falter. "I can't do a single
thing for Maria."

"I think you're underestimating what you can do for her by just being friend,"
Isabel replied with a rarely-heard softness. "She's going to go through hell.
She doesn't need any*thing*. She needs you." He said nothing,
concentrating on the road again. "She's going to be all right, Alex."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I don't know Maria all that well, but I do know that she's a fighter. She's
going beat this," she told him confidently. "If she doesn't talk it to death first."

Alex laughed, and Isabel's heart warmed at this sound. Smiling at her, he
said, "Thanks. I needed that."

"You're welcome," she replied, returning it. She needed that, too.

*I'm powerless to change your world/ I'm powerless to stop the hurt/ I'm trying
hard to be your tower of strength/ I'm trying hard to bring you back to joy*

Michael stared at the door of Maria's hospital room. He had been standing
there for a good fifteen minutes now, not sure what his next move would be,
what he was going to say. He wasn't even sure he was going to make it
through a single sentence.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Michael stood back, leaning against the
opposite wall. He watched as Amy DeLuca came out with a petite blonde
woman, most likely a doctor with her starched white labcoat over blue scrubs.
Michael observed Maria's mother, who normally could easily pass for Maria's
sister, and noticed how exhausted she looked, how defeated she appeared,
how today she actually looked her age. He hung back; he had not met her
yet, and this was definitely not the best time.

"...we'll start her first round of radiation therapy tomorrow morning," he heard
the doctor tell her. "If you have any other questions, just ask me or Dr.
Phillips."

Mrs. DeLuca nodded her head and softly said, "Thank you, Abbie. You don't
know how much this means to me."

The doctor stood in the middle of the hallway and watched as the mother
hastily exited, a look of complete sadness on her face, her gray eyes slightly
misting. Obviously she wasn't just Maria's doctor; Michael guessed she
might be a family friend. As she turned to walk away herself, she noticed
Michael standing there awkwardly and regained her composure, appearing as
professional once again.

"Do you know Maria DeLuca?" she asked him. "Friend or family member?"

Michael straightened up and walked towards her. "Friend," he answered, and
then muttered his name.

"I'm Dr. Post, but since you're a friend of the DeLuca's, you can call me
Abbie," she introduced herself, shaking his hand and offering a small smile.
"She's allowed to have visitors now."

He nodded, and stared at the door behind her. Noticing his hesitance, she
remarked, "It's easier than it looks."

Michael looked at her, startled. "What is?"

"Walking inside," Dr. Post answered, her face becoming somber again.
"Saying those first few words. It's going to be uncomfortable, but you have to
get past it and on to what's really important."

"Which would be?"

"That she can't do this alone," she replied. She looked away, like she was
recalling something from her memory. "She going to push you away, you
know. And a part of you is going to want to let her. But you can't." Abbie
turned to him again, and examined his face. "You're not just her 'friend' are
you?"

"And you're not just her doctor," he commented.

She laughed, and the dismal tone of the conversation was broken. "No, I'm
not just her doctor," she admitted. "I've known her since she was ten."

"I've been in love with her since we were ten," Michael replied quietly. "Since
Mr. Raddish's fifth-grade class." He stopped, then chuckled. "Of course, I
didn't know it then. I used to tease the hell out of her."

Abbie smiled at him. "Then I suggest you get your butt into her room ASAP
and make it up to her."

*I'll give you my heart, give you my shoulder/ Give you my heart, give you my
shoulder...*

Maria stared at the TV monitor. The syndicated family sitcoms weren't
helping her one bit. A place where everything was solved and put into a pretty
little package by the time the credits rolled just depressed her even more.
With a click of the button, the television was off and she was staring up at the
ceiling, trying to wake up from the nightmare. That was what it was, wasn't
it?

Suddenly, there was tentative knock on the door. She felt her body tense;
Maria knew for certain that it wasn't a doctor or nurse. People in the medical
profession had this annoying tendency to walk in without knocking. She
knew who it was, and she didn't want to face him. She had been preparing
herself for his visit ever since she found out about the tumor, but she still
wasn't ready.

Michael's head poked through the doorway. The two's eyes locked and
neither said a word for a moment. They were both drinking each other into
their sight, noting how the other never looked so weak, so fragile.

"Hey," he greeted her softly, slowly slipping into the room and closing the
heavy door behind him.

"Hey," she replied, careful to make her voice indifferent. Maria forced her
eyes away from him and turned on the television again.

Michael, confused, glanced at the television above him and then back at her.
"How are you?"

"Okay," she muttered, her eyes never leaving the screen.

He stared at her, at the apathetic and detached expression she had set on
her face, not sure what was going to be his next move. He knew what she
was trying to do, and he hated her for it. For a second, he wanted to bolt, but
then he recalled Dr. Post's words.

Michael reached up and manually turned the TV off. Maria responded by
turning it on again with a click of her remote.

And Michael turned it off again.

"Michael, don't be an ass," she snapped, turning the television on. Which he
turned off.

"Michael!" she exclaimed, annoyed. "Will you please just leave me alone!"

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth, turning the TV on again.

His hand pressed the 'Off' button on the monitor. "I don't know think it is."

"What, you go out with me for two weeks and you think you know me by
heart?" she growled. "Get over yourself, Guerin. I have."

Michael's body tensed, and his fists clenched, but he wasn't going to give in.
"So, you want to end this."

"You catch on quick," she replied icily, clicking on the TV.

He made no motion to leave, only to turn the monitor off. "Well, I don't want
to end this," he told her. "We need to talk."

Maria set the remote aside on the night table and glared at him. "Fine. You
want to talk. Let's talk," she said. "I have something growing inside of me
that's going to eat away at my body until there's nothing left. The only
possible other option is to kill it with some UV rays, and I'm going to vomit all
over the place and my hair's going to fall out. Needless to say, it's not going
to be a pretty sight. But even chemo's not a guarantee. And you and I both
know you're not going to want to stay around for it." Her cold demeanor
began to fade as her eyes moistened. "You're going to bolt the second you
get the chance. So let's just save all the drama and have you exit in the first
act, okay?"

Michael stared at her, hurt evident on his face. "Don't you think if I wanted to
leave, I would have done it already?"

Maria choked back tears. "Just go."

Michael shook his head, walking closer to her bed. "I have nowhere else to
go." Finally reaching her side, he sat down next to her and placed his hand
over hers.

She tried to pull away from him. "You don't want this. You don't want me,"
she said tearfully, the tears now sliding down her cheeks and leaving wet
trails behind.

He wiped away one of the damp traces. "What, you go out with me for two
weeks and you think you know me by heart?" he repeated softly.

She laughed, and stared up into his intense eyes.

"You can't push me away," he said, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm
in for the long haul."

The ends of her mouth twitched, and her lips formed the smile he had grown
to love. "Promise?"

He nodded. "Promise."