(continued from previous)

******

Liz Parker stared at the simple white envelope in her hand, and, for the hundreth time that minute, wondered if she'd made the right choice.

The name on the envelope was strange to her. Adrian Smith. A simple name-- it could easily belong to anybody. Perfect for playing a life and death game of hide-and-seek. PO Box 1023. Denver, Colorado.

She sighed. Like it or not, she'd made her choice three hours ago in Kyle's apartment. There was no turning back now.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," she muttered.

What had she been thinking? Going with a loose cannon case of walking, talking schizophrenia. That's a bit harsh, she scolded herself. He's just paranoid.

Sure. No problem there.

Max would have been a MUCH better choice. He was calm, level-headed, a natural-born leader. He would have been able to handle the situation quickly and efficiently, and Maria would have walked out of that hospital room, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, five minutes after he walked in. It was just that simple.

Then, maybe, Liz could have spent some QUALITY time with him...

She shook herself. No. She wasn't the issue here, and neither were her feelings toward Max. Maria was the one that mattered, and when she opened her eyes, there was only one being on the face of this earth the pixie-girl would want to see. And that was Michael Guerin.

Liz glared again at the letter in her hand. She hadn't put her return address on the letter-- too easily tracked that way. Kyle had told her as much. He'd even addressed the envelope for her-- because Michael would recognize his handwriting. "No need to shock him senseless before he's even read the letter," the football player told her.

Still, she wasn't happy. There were no guarantees that Michael would respond in any way to her pleas for help. He might have put Roswell as far behind him as he psychologically could, and wouldn't want to fire those particular synapses again. Perhaps he'd moved on past Maria-- that made Liz wince-- and wouldn't want to come help her.

She thought of the words she'd written. Heaven knew, she hadn't expected it to be so hard to ask such a crucial favor. It had taken over an hour to phrase it correctly. What she'd ended with had been simple, straight-forward, and she hoped it hit him right in the soul-- struck him to the core, like he had done to Maria.

"If you ever felt for her, get your ass back here and save her life. Roswell General Hospital, Room 223. You put her here-- now get her out."

No signature. He'd know it was her-- who else could it be? She hoped he sweated, fretted. And when he DID show up, if he hurt her friend again, Liz was going to personally kill him.

With a clean motion, she opened the blue swing door of the streetcorner mailbox and dropped the letter into the darkness. It was gone-- beyond her hands. She took a deep breath, turned on her heel, and wondered when it was she'd become so cold.

******

The next week was the worst Liz had ever lived through. Mrs. Deluca would rarely leave her daughter's bedside, unless Liz or Alex dragged her away. Alex-- God, if she looked as bad as he did, she was in poor shape. His face was drawn, and dark circles shadowed the area beneath his eyes. If he slept, Liz never noticed.

Tonight was her shift. She'd sent Maria's mother and Alex home to sleep. "I'll let you know if there's any change," she'd assured them. "I promise."

Change. That would have been a blessing. Any kind of change. Something to show Maria was still alive, not just a mannequin hardwired to a heart monitor and soaking up nutrients like a sponge. But the blonde girl in the hospital bed wouldn't comply- she'd stayed steady for the past week. An equilibrium that could still tilt either way.

Liz forced herself to sleep, even if it was fitful. You're no good to Maria if you faint from exhaustion, she told herself, even as she pressed her eyelids closed, banishing another nightmare to the back of her mind and forcing herself to sleep again.

And it was during one of these meager fits of slumber that he came to her.

She was in a dark room, a place she'd visited many times before. There were no doors, no windows, and only a single lightbulb dangling from a long wire in the center of the ceiling for illumination. No furniture, no ornaments. No escape.

Liz sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, staring up at the lightbulb. "Wonder what that symbolizes?" she murmured absently.

"A spark of hope in a hopeless situation?"

She spun around, eyes wide. No one had ever joined her here before. Certainly never..."Max?" she whispered, afraid to believe.

He gifted her with his trademark half smile. "Hello, Liz. I've missed you."

******

He spoke so easily, as if six months and three thousand miles had never separated them. As if they were chatting over an Alien Blast in the Crashdown.

"Are... are you real?" she murmured, uncurling and standing slowly.

Max's eyes played softly over her face. "Yes, Liz. It's me." He chuckled. "The number of times I've told Izzy off about dreamwalking, and what am I doing?" He looked around. "I'm glad I did," he said. "If you're living in a dark place like this, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Liz was an awkward teenager again-- all elbows and knees. She stuck her thumbs into her belt loops and hunched her shoulders. God, she just wanted to throw herself through the intervening space between them and wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him....

"Why are you here, Max?" she asked instead, fighting down the manic impulses of her id.

His smiled faded. "Kyle...he wrote to me. I heard about Maria." His eyebrows pursed. "How is she?"

Liz felt a cold fist form in her stomach. "No change," she whispered.

"And the baby?"

She shrugged, uncomfortable talking about Maria's pregnancy when it was quite possible Maria herself didn't know. "The doctor's say its a miracle the baby's even alive, let alone as strong as it is."

Max managed a chuckle. "Michael and Maria always were tenacious. Guess it's in their genes."

Liz winced at Michael's name, and Max looked at her curiously. "Is something wrong? Liz?"

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to tell anyone. It was her problem. Her emotions. She raised her eyes to his. "No."

At least, that was what was SUPPOSED to come out of her mouth.

Instead, she looked up, stared him dead in the eye, and collapsed into tears.

"Liz?" He had her wrapped in his arms in a split second, and she sobbed against him, deep, racking sobs, that tore her apart over and over.

Max stroked her long, dark hair. "It's going to be all right, Liz," he whispered. "Everything's going to be all right."

"What if he doesn't show?" she moaned, sobbing. "Maria...Maria needs him! And I don't know...."

"He'll come," Max assured her.

Sniffing, she pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. "H-how do you know?" she sniffled.

Max's gentle eyes softened even more as he ran his elegant fingers through her hair. "Because I know him," he replied. "He likes to think he's a big enigma, but he's not." He smiled. "If he didn't care for Maria, he would never have gone to her dormroom that night. He would have run as far and as fast as he could, until Roswell, and the Crashdown, and blonde waitresses with pixie haircuts were just memories." His fingers moved to cup her cheek, and Liz let her eyes drift closed. "Michael Guerin might try to hide it, but when he loves, he loves deeper than almost anyone else on the face of this earth."

Her eyes opened then, and she looked deeply into his. "What about you?" she whispered.

Max said nothing for a long minute. Then, in answer, he leaned forward, and kissed her.

It was mindblowing. Even his last night here in Roswell, they had gone no further than simple kissing. They'd laid next to each other beneath the stars, side by side, wrapped in one another's arms, rarely speaking. She could still remember the touch of his lips.

But this was different. This wasn't the tender farewell kisses she remembered. This was more-- it spoke of his hunger, and loneliness, and how much he missed her. It spoke of how long he'd wanted her, to taste her like this-- not with the tender fumblings of a teenager, or a young man, but with purpose, and knowledge. She let herself melt into him.

When they broke apart, she gasped for air with him, foreheads touching, her arms wrapped around his neck, his hand twined in her hair, the other resting on the small of her back. Parts of her she hadn't allowed herself to think about for months were tingling, pulsing.

She looked into his eyes, and he smiled. "I said ALMOST everyone," he whispered.

Liz smiled back, then went for his lips again. He didn't resist. She felt his tongue slip between her lips again, and she delved into his mouth with her own.

When they came apart, she gasped out, "Max?"

"Hmm?" His lips were on her neck now.

"Why....didn't we...do like Michael...and Maria?"

He froze, and she cursed herself for breaking the mood. Pulling away from her throat, he stood straight and gazed down into her eyes. "Why?"

"I...I just wondered," she whispered.

Max closed his eyes and let his head drop forward with a sigh. "I...God, I just...."

She stroked his cheek, and he leaned into her hand. "Why, Max?" she said softly, tenderly.

His eyes opened, and he gazed at her. "Because I knew if we did, I could never leave you," he replied, insecuriy swept away. "I knew I would stay with you and let myself die over you. And I couldn't do that. Not to you, not to me, not to the others. I had to be able to leave and not look back." He trailed off, and rested his forehead against hers. "But you want to know what's ironic?"

"What?"

"When I moved into my dorm, I made sure I got a room that faces southwest."

There was silence for a long moment, then Liz laughed.

"We are a sorry pair, aren't we, Max?" she chuckled.

He smiled in return. "I guess so."

There was silence.

"You're not here now."

Max looked puzzled at her comment. "Yes I am, Liz," he told her.

She shook her head. "No, that's not what I mean." She smiled knowingly. "You're not here to be captured. You're just here to...be here."

He saw where she was going, and smiled in return. "Maybe so," he murmured. "But if we did....would I ever want to wake up again?"

"If we don't, would I?"

"Good point."

"Make love to me, Max." She almost couldn't believe she was saying it. But once the words had left her lips, Liz felt how right they were.

His eyes burned into hers, and she felt her heart begin to pound faster. "Liz, are you sure?"

"God, yes," she murmured. "Please?"

His hands came up to cup her face, and he touched her lips lightly. "Yes, Liz," he whispered hoarsely against her lips.

There was very little to be said after that.

******

When she woke several hours later, Liz felt happier than she had in months. She had his love, the memory of his hands on her, and his promise to not be a stranger in her dreams. Not that he had been to begin with, she thought absently. She opened her eyes, and with shock that she realized she wasn't alone in the room.

A dark figure loomed over Maria's bed, gazing down at the golden girl.

Liz gave herself a second to recover from her initial jolt. When she was sure she wouldn't squeak, she said, "You came."

Michael showed no sign of surprise at her voice. "So I did," he replied, voice hoarse.

Unfolding herself from the chair with some difficulty-- her tryst with Max might have only been in a dreamscape, but her muscles were so relaxed that she found it hard to control them-- Liz stood, and walked to Maria's bedside, across from Michael. "I wasn't sure you would," she told him.

He glanced briefly at her, then looked back to Maria's pale face. "Neither was I," he whispered.

******

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.

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."

******

Liz stared at him, not understanding. "What? What do you mean you don't know how? Just..." She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. "Work your magic."

"It's not that easy."

"What do you MEAN, 'it's not that easy?'" Her voice was a little desperate now. "You just healed my headache! What's so different?" She realized even as she said it how silly it sounded.

Michael looked skyward, then back down to Maria's slim body beneath the covers. "That was...a headache. This...this is life and death."

"But Max-"

"This isn't a gunshot, Liz," he argued. "This is a body that's lost all of its strength. She can barely hold on as it is." He sounded as panicked as Liz was feeling. "I don't know how to fix that."

Now Liz WAS panicking. No. She had not waited a week, gone through seven hells, to end up losing now.

An idea suddenly struck her. "You have to talk to her," she blurted out.

Michael gave her a puzzled look. "Liz, she's totally unresponsive. I could talk to her till I'm blue in the face, and she wouldn't-"

"No!" Liz cut him off. "In here." She tapped her forehead. "In her head."

A moment passed, and then his eyes brightened. "You mean...dreamwalk?"

Liz nodded. "If she missed you enough to put herself in the hospital...what better way to wake her up than to let her know you're here?"

Michael actually managed a smile. "I think...I think maybe it'll work!" he exclaimed.

Liz fluttered her hand towards Maria. "So do it! Go! Time is wasting!"

Michael looked away from her, back to Maria, face glowing with new-found hope. She was happy to have been the one to give it to him.

Shrugging out of his black leather jacket, Michael climbed up on the bed, stretching out beside the pale girl. He buried his face in Maria's golden hair, still beautiful despite being brittle and limp from malnutrition. One arm wrapped around her waist as the other reached a hand up to stroke her cheek. "See you soon, sweetie," he whispered against her ear.

And he fell asleep.

******

The place was dark. Dark and cold. There was no light, except a dim glow that seemed to radiate from nowhere in particular. Michael looked around, suddenly sick to his stomach. God, how long had she been living here? Cold and alone in the dark? "Maria!" he called, and the blackness echoed the name back to him: mariariariaria....

"Go away." The voice was so nearby, it made Michael jump. He spun around, towards the source of the sound, and his heart leapt.

She was sitting on the hard, black ground a couple of yards away from him, one leg curled beneath her, one knee pulled up under her chin.

It took all his strength not to run towards her, wrap her in his arms, and kiss her until she begged for air. Instead, he took a slow step in her direction. "Maria?"

"I said go away." It was cold, almost petulant, the way she said those words. Her eyes weren't focusing on him-- if anything, they seemed to look right through him, and that hurt worst of all.

"Why do you want me to go away, Maria?" He took another slow step towards her.

That got her attention. Her eyes snapped into focus, and she stared right into his eyes, making him freeze in place. "Because you're not real," she told him. "You're never real." The fire went out of her gaze, and she looked away again. "I just want to be alone."

His throat tightened. "No you don't, Maria."

"Stop using my name."

"Why? Don't you like your name?"

"You say it right. You're not supposed to say it right. You're a fake. Only Michael says my name like that."

Michael swallowed, and closed the space between them. She didn't seem to notice when he sank to his knees in front of her. "What if I told you I'm the real Michael?"

She snorted, but didn't look at him. "I wouldn't believe you."

"Why not?"

She shrugged.

He reached out a tentative hand towards her. Maria pulled away, and he stopped. "Please, Maria? Let me touch you. I haven't...touched you in so long." He hoped the sincerity in his voice reached her.

It must have gotten through to her on some level, because she met his gaze. Then minutely, she nodded.

Michael didn't allow himself a breath of relief. He still had to gain her trust. Reaching out tenderly, he stroked her cheek, letting his eyes drift closed as he felt her petal soft skin beneath his fingertips. This Maria-- the dream Maria-- still saw herself as healthy, warm. Her skin was beautifully real.

Suddenly, she jerked away from him, and Michael's eyes snapped open, hurt. "Wha-? Maria?"

Her hand was at her cheek, as though she had burned herself. "I...I FELT you!" she whispered, shocked.

Michael let himself chuckle at that. "Of course you did," he told her. "I'm not a dream. You can't feel a dream."

Maria's eyes were still wide with disbelief. "B-but," she stammered. "Then what are you?"

His eyes softened, and he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. She didn't pull away this time. "I'm Michael, Maria," he whispered. "Really."

******

Don't believe him.

It's just another trick of your mind! Don't believe it!

"I want to believe it," she said out loud, hoping to quell the bickering voices in her head.

Michael must have figured she was addressing him, because he smiled. "Then believe it, baby, because I am here, in the flesh, to see you."

That was so him. So Michael. Maybe it really was... "What's your favorite ice cream flavor?" She fired the question off, staccato.

He looked puzzled, but answered. "Pistachio."

Too easy. Of COURSE a dream Michael would know that. "When you'd visit Max, what was your preferred mode of entry?"

He grinned. "Window."

STILL too easy! She needed something hard. Something a dream Michael wouldn't know. Something painful. Dream Michael's NEVER remembered the painful stuff.

"When you left," she whispered, "what were the last words you said to me?"

This Michael looked suddenly uneasy. Hah! I was right! Maria started to pull away, but stopped when he gripped her arms and kept her close.

"I said, 'Goodbye, Maria,'" he murmured. "Then I shut and locked your dormroom door and ran until I couldn't run any further. Until my legs stopped, and my heart raced, and I couldn't breathe anymore."

The eyes that pleaded with hers were so real. The hands that held her arms were so HIM. And he'd remembered... "Michael?" she asked cautiously.

The smile he gave her convinced her. None of the dream Michael's had ever gotten it right. "You believe me," he breathed.

She didn't answer. How could she? Instead, she flung herself towards him, and when their mouths met, any doubts she'd still had melted away.

******

He'd forgotten how sweet she tasted. Maria's lips were still as soft and supple as he remembered, and just as delicious. Michael smiled inwardly at the realization that, even in her dreams, Maria wore fruity lip gloss. Watermelon this time. He ran his tongue across her lips, then between, and felt his heart skip a beat when her own eager little tongue slipped into his mouth.

Her delicate fingers twined in his hair as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, like he'd wanted to for so long. He couldn't seem to remember a time when this moment, this breathless interlude, wasn't his only goal and heartfelt desire. Had there ever been anything else but this? Anything but Maria, and lips, and the shared breath and heat of two individuals who were drowning without one another?

When they finally broke apart, minutes later, gasping for breath, Michael kept her tight against his chest, too afraid to let her go. Maria didn't struggle. She cuddled up closer to him, resting her cheek on his shoulder, so that her explosive breaths cooled his feverish skin.

"I've missed you," she murmured, and he realized she was crying.

Reaching up a hand to stroke her golden hair, Michael gently rocked her back and forth. "I know. I'm so sorry, Maria. I've missed you, too." He kissed the crown of her head. "I'm so sorry. Please don't cry."

"Why are you here?"

She sounded so content. As if there were nothing wrong with her situation. And he realized with a shock that she didn't know what was going on.

Gently, he pulled her back, ignoring her little moan of protest, and looked deeply into her eyes. "Maria, do you know what's happened to you?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "Happened to me? What?" She chuckled. "I'm guessing I fell asleep."

Michael bit his lip and shook his head. "No, Maria. You're in the hospital for malnutrition. You've been there for a full week."

******

Maria stared at him in shock. "Malnu- Michael, what are you talking about?"

He cupped her cheek. "You haven't been eating enough, Maria," he told her softly. "Not near enough. Your body...it just couldn't support you."

Her shock compounded. "What?" But now that she thought of it, she could remember something about food...

Michael watched her mull over her memories. "Why didn't you eat anything, Maria?"

She looked at him. It was still unbelievable that he was here-- she'd dreamnt this moment a thousand times. And now it was him. The real him. He'd come to her. She'd needed him, and he'd come to her. "I wasn't hungry," she murmured.

******

Michael gazed at her for a long moment, then laughed. Pulling her tight against him, he pressed his cheek down against her hair. "You weren't hungry." He laughed quietly. "I should have known."

"W-why are you here, Michael?" she whispered for a second time. But now, she sounded afraid.

He moved her a little, and gazed down into her frightened eyes. "Liz...got in contact with me. It's a long story," he cut off her question. "I'll tell you later. All that matters is she told me about you, and I came, because I had to be with you." He swallowed. "I wouldn't let you face this alone."

"Face what alone?"

Maria looked at him in puzzlement. "Both of me?"

Michael gifted her with his famous half-smile. "Maria...you're pregnant."

******

To say she was shocked would be an understatement. Floored. Bowled over. Stammering with amazement. Those might have fit better.

"P-pregnant?" she stuttered.

Michael nodded. "Six months."

"But...But, I don't LOOK pregnant!"

"You haven't been eating enough. Any weight you've put on has been hidden."

She nodded, dazed. Suddenly, a new thought struck her, and she looked at him in horror. "God, the baby! I haven't...the baby's all right, isn't it?"

Her heart soared when he nodded. "Fine and kicking. The doctors say it's a miracle." His hand made a gentle circle on her stomach. "I say it's more the genetics."

Maria smiled. "A little full of yourself, don't you think?"

"I didn't just mean me."

She blushed.

"Maria?" he asked softly. "When you skipped...weren't you suspicious?"

She shook her head. "I thought it was just stress. I was sure it would come back over the summer." She couldn't resist another smile. "I'm glad I was wrong." Her eyes met his again as her hands reached down to fold over his on her abdomen. "Michael, we're going to be parents." She couldn't hold back the disbelief in her voice.

He brushed his lips across hers. "I know, Maria. But first we have to wake you up."

Maria's heart sank. "I...I don't think I can," she stammered. "I've tried."

Michael's eyebrows furrowed in concern. "When?"

She looked away. "A while ago. I didn't want to be here anymore. I...I wanted to wake up. But I couldn't." She sighed. "I thought I was just really tired."

Michael's jawline hardened. "We're going to get you out, Maria," he told her. "I promise. That's why I'm here. I'm not going to leave you here."

Maria looked deeply into his eyes, frustrated. "But there's no way out."

He gave her a grim smile. "Then we'll make one."

******

Continued next page...

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