A/N: Since Valentine's Day is approaching, I thought a piece featuring Mai was appropriate, "Six O' Clock" is a companion piece to my earlier Joeycentric oneshot "Scared". Reading "Scared" first may makes things a little clearer, but is not necessary

Six o'clock

Six o'clock. He was supposed to be home at six o'clock.

But he's not here. Dinner's on the table, getting cold. I've been sitting here waiting for what seems like hours. Where is he?

The phone hasn't rung. You'd think he could at least call and let me know he was on his way, but no, that would be way too responsible of him. That would require him to actually think. I tug angrily at the yarn I'm croqueting, accidentally pulling out an entire row. My needle quickly bobs in and out of the yarn. The row will easily be redone before he gets here. I could croquet a scarf for an elephant before he got here.

I push the yarn away from me in disgust. What on earth am I croqueting for anyway? I look like some little old lady bending over the latest ugly sweater she's making for her grandson. What happened to me? I used to be so sophisticated, so cosmopolitan. Life was all sports cars and designer clothes, sunny beaches and martinis in the moonlight. How'd I turn into some scarf-making frump?

No wonder he isn't home. What is there for him to come home to? I can't even fit into any of my old clothes anymore. I'm a big, boring, bunny-slipper-wearing blob. He's probably having an affair. Of course he is. He's always working late, always making excuses, even though he knows how much I needed him here at home. He's probably found himself someone young and pretty, someone scintillating and exciting like I used to be. I wonder if she's blonde.

A tear drips onto my cheek, followed by another, and then another. Now I'm a blotchy red mess, a wet, crying blob. Am I really so hideous? Am I really so horrible? Have I really driven my husband away? What should I do? What can I do? Drive up to the office there and confront him? What if he leaves me? What do I do…Oh, why isn't he here? What's going on? And why in the name of all that is good on this sorry earth doesn't he call?

A horrible thought strikes me. What if he can't? What if he was in a wreck—it's raining, after all. Maybe his phone had been destroyed, tossed from the car and smashed into a million pieces. Maybe he had broken his arm and couldn't dial. Maybe he had been knocked out and taken to the hospital and—of course—he didn't have his driver's license so no one knew who he was. Maybe…I choke…maybe he's dead.

I burst into fresh tears at the thought, but a new sound breaks into my sobs. The phone was ringing. I answer it, torn between the elated hope that it's him and the paralyzing terror that the police are inquiring about the next of kin. It's neither, a telemarketer instead. I rip into him before slamming down the phone and collapsing into puddles of tears. He's not coming home, I know it. He's gone, gone, gone, and I'll be all alone.

How could he do it to me? How could he be gone at a time like this? Why did he ever leave and why, oh why, didn't he come back?

He was supposed to come home at six. I told him to come at six. He said he'd come home at six. But he wasn't here, of course not. Of course he couldn't do this one little thing for me. He couldn't be responsible just this one time. He couldn't be here for me, when I needed him.

There's a sound at the door. The knob turns and then the door swing open. He walks in. "Hey, babe. I—"

"What's going on?" I screech at him, ready to tear out his hair, and then my own.

He blinks, baffled. "I'm…coming home?" He puts his hand on my shoulder. "Everything alright, hon? You look like you've had a tough time."

I tear away and I'm just about to retort that if he wants to know the reason why I'm such a wreck he just has to go look in the mirror, when my eye happens to catch the clock. Oh. I stamp my foot and toss my head, unsure if I want to laugh or cry.

"Mai, are you okay?" His brown eyes fill with concern. "There's nothing wrong with the baby, is there? Did the doctor call?"

"Joey…" I put my arm around his neck and lean against his chest.

"Is there a problem? Do we need to go to the hospital? It's going to be okay, Mai, it is, I know. Mai, tell me it's going to be okay!"

I shut him up with a kiss. When I pull away, he looks confused. Pleased, but confused. He looks at me with quizzical eyes. I laugh, because I'm so completely in love with him.

"Everything's going to be great, Joey. Just great."

"That's good."

This time, he makes the first move. And as our lips meet, the clock strikes six.