A direct continuation of "Exit Wounds". If you haven't yet read that, go do so now and come back to this if you like it. Please read, review and enjoy.

Prompt: "Thinking of You" by Katy Perry

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

SECRETS

Soon after Mike had left, Max decided she didn't want to be awake any longer to think - or feel - things she shouldn't. She makes her way into her bedroom and readies herself for bed. She seldom wore jewellery, not even a watch, but she always wore her mother's ring on her right hand.

When she removes it for the night, it falls from her hand and tumbles onto the floor, rolling its way under the bed.

"Great." Max sighs and kneels down. She extends her arm under the base of the bed and lets her hand find the ring. Instead of the touch of metal, her hand clutches a soft bundle of fabric that didn't belong there. Curious, she pulled her arm out, along with whatever she had found.

In the dim light of the room, Max could make out block white letters reading FBI on the navy blue material. It was a t-shirt and it wasn't hers, nor was it Tom's since he was in SWAT.

It was Mike's, of course. One of them had likely kicked it under there by accident one morning after they'd tore each other's clothes off the night before. Apparently it had remained beneath her for months as she slept, forgotten and bereft of warmth.

Max stared at it as if it were the man to whom it belonged. Her first thought wasn't that she should give it to him tomorrow. Instead, her mind flashed to the memory of the night she'd last seen him wear it.

Even now, she remembers how his touch always seemed to burn hours after it had left her skin. And hell if she couldn't see him as clearly as if he was sitting right beside her.

Gradually, she felt her heartbeat careen out of control. And suddenly, Mike's presence was everywhere – sitting by the window; beside her on the floor; curled up in her bed fast asleep. It taunted her to the point where she all but leapt from her knees and threw the shirt onto the floor, far rougher than the damned thing deserved. Although Max had never believed in ghosts, she certainly believed that Mike Weston had the ability to dig himself into the very deepest part of her mind and stay there until she gave him the attention he so harshly demanded.

"Ugh!" Max groaned, squeezing her eyes shut an effort to block out thoughts of him.

If she could hate him for anything it would be this. He isn't the one she should be thinking about this way, not anymore. He lost that right the moment he got on the plane to Europe.

However, as Max stared longingly at the t-shirt discarded on the floor, she found that it was herself she hated. She had a new boyfriend and he's great. He isn't dysfunctional, slightly bipolar or even traumatised – he wouldn't leave her at the drop of a hat in the pursuit of vengeance. He isn't Mike. And yet, it's Mike she tastes whenever Tom kisses her. It's been four months and his taste is stained onto her tongue. He's not Mike – he isn't, but she hated herself for wishing he was.

Now, they were to be partners. They'd be with each other more often than not and Lord knows what they'll have to endure with Mark and whoever else was terrorising New York City. It was amidst the terror and chaos that they had grown closer the first time around and Max wonders just how she is going to manage pretending there is nothing left between them. That she doesn't feel compelled to put on his shirt and let it serve as a replacement for the embrace she shouldn't want to be in.

Max felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as she leaned down to pick the shirt back up, staring down at in within her hands. She couldn't deny what she felt, but she could however keep it in the dark, because they weren't getting back together. And any feelings they felt don't have to mean anything if she didn't want them to.

Neither Mike nor Tom would know how she felt, nor could Mike know that she had written a reply to the letter he sent a month after his departure.

Three months earlier…

"Your mailbox was full, thought I'd empty it for once." Ryan announced as he entered, handing his niece a bundle of envelopes.

Max takes them gratefully and sets routine and junk mail to the side. Then she comes across one with 'Maxine Hardy' written in Mike's unmistakeable hand-writing.

She hadn't heard from Mike since he walked out the door. No phone call, text or email to anyone since he left. Ryan had called him several times in that first week, ready to tear him to pieces for hurting his niece the way he promised he wouldn't. It was only when Max had told him to quit trying; that it wasn't going to bring him back, Ryan decided to stop.

Though she hadn't tried herself, she hoped that he'd contact someone eventually. A handwritten letter was the last thing she expected. Perhaps he was too much of a coward to speak to her over the phone.

And indeed, that's exactly how the letter begins. It mostly consisted of never ending apologies and excuses – he even claimed he was sorry for that too. She was going to toss it aside and pay it no heed until she read the concluding paragraph:

"You're probably tired of my excuses, because there are none for what I've done to you, but I truly have never felt more apologetic in my life. I'm sorry for telling you that I would never leave you; that I'd always be there – I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry if it seemed like it was easy for me to walk out that door; like it wasn't hurting me to hurt you – it did; it does. Mostly, I'm sorry that you gave me more love than I deserve; more than what I could receive. I'm sorry for that night…"

After all of his hopeless atonements, he seems to have had hope in receiving a reply, because he then leaves the letter open-ended.

"Will you still love me when I return?"

Present Day

Max had written back with an answer and she fully intended to send it up until she reached the mailbox outside of her apartment. With the flap open and the envelope in her hand, ready to post it, she had a change of heart. She could've sent the letter and waited for his return, whenever that may be. But that was just it – neither of them knew when he was coming home and Max refused to wait indefinitely for a man who had thrown away everything she had given him.

Instead, she threw the letter into the trashcan, denying him her forgiveness, and let herself move on as best she could.

Months later and now she was with someone else, someone she could trust her heart with. And yet, she couldn't say she had given it to him. She had only one heart to give and how could she give it to Tom while, in her hands, she held the shirt of the man who had just walked out with it.

So, she'd keep the shirt and hide it under her bed with their memories. Quite frankly, despite how wrong it was, she couldn't bring herself to get rid of either.

I'm not particularly fond of how I've written this one, it seems messy but I wanted to share either way. Thank you for reading.