"Joanne?"

The voice swam up from the darkness that encased the African American lawyer.

"Joanne, you here?"

It was a familiar voice. A gentle, soft, masculine voice that caused both a sense of alarm and calm to wash over her. That voice was always calming, except when the owner was mad. But right now, it was curious and soft and warm.

"Jo? Your office said you didn't come in…"

The voice was fading some, heading away from her. He wasn't supposed to be there. Nobody was supposed to come and check on her, she wasn't supposed to be found yet! Especially by him.

"Joanne?!"

The voice was more panicked now, almost sensing that something wasn't right in these walls. Doors were being opened loudly and it was only a matter of time until the one that led to her was reached. Until he saw her in her pathetic state.

"JOANNE!"

The door to her room flew open and a light from several rooms away spilled into the dark room. Her back was to the door, slumped against a chair. There she sat, unmoving. Maybe, if she tried really hard, he wouldn't see her and go away…

Warm hands pressed up against her face, gently patting her cheeks as the floor creaked, dashing her half hopes and signaling the fact that he was now crouching in front of her.

"C'mon Jo, don't do this. Open your eyes."

He was pleading now. She knew that if she were to do as he asked she'd see him in the pale light, pasty skin paler than usual with worry, his lips two colorless tight lines as he pinched them together to prevent him from chewing on them nervously, his vibrant blue eyes wide and scared (but hiding that emotion) behind his black frames. She didn't have to open her eyes to know what she'd see.

"JOANNE! Wake up!"

He was shaking her now, his voice angry and strangely quiet but loud. Her eyelids half slid open in surprise and shock at how he sounded. She had been right, she noted. Mark was crouched in front of her; pale, tight lipped, wide eyed and angry.

"What did you take?"

The words were sounding farther away now. Her hand involuntarily released the bottle she had been clutching so tightly before as soon as his warm hand encompassed hers. She couldn't remember the name of the pills anymore. Anti-depressants of some sort. Her eyes drooped as his focused on the label and name. She didn't care. All she knew was that she was tired and her stomach was hurting. Then, warmth enveloped her, strong arms lifting her up. For such a scrawny looking guy, he was sort of strong. Then again, she hadn't eaten in a while.

"Stay…me. Hang…Jo…c'mon…."

He was talking again as the chilly New York air hit her exposed arms and legs. All she wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up. However, the constant jostling and shaking delayed that. The cold air suddenly vanished even though his arms remained around her body, cradling her to him tightly.

"….hospital…help…fast!"

He was getting farther away, reality finally slipping away, but she knew. She knew that they'd get to the hospital in record time (she lived six or so blocks away, there was no doubt that the cabby would rush and get there as soon as he could…customers dying in the back seat is bad for business). At the hospital, they'd rush her to ICU and pump her stomach, get everything out of her system and pump her full of 'life saving drugs.' However, this wasn't what she wanted. Nobody was supposed to have come. Mark had found her too soon! Ever since Maureen left her, she'd been alone. So, why had he come today of all days?
And with that final thought, Joanne floated away to nothingness. The last thing she was aware of was the feel of Mark's arms around her body tightening as if he'd keep here there with his strength alone.

-------------------

"…sorry. I-we…my fault…"

Those words flitted across her consciousness several times before registering. It was that familiar voice again. The man who had found her. Mark. Mark Cohen.

"…should've called…Maureen's here….stupid."

More words, but these one stung. She had done something to end up somewhere that wasn't home and smelled too clean (Sterile…a hospital? Yes, that's where Mark had demanded that she be taken) because of this Maureen woman.

"You really scared the hell out of m-us, Jo."

A full sentence. She had survived. A warm pressure was on her hand, vaguely reminiscent of the arms that had gripped her tightly however long before. Mark was still relying on physical contact to reassure himself that she had survived, she was still there and not like however many others he had seen that…weren't.

"But Joanne, we all just want to know….why?"

The pressure lessened then disappeared, the chair screeching as it slid across the linoleum as he stood up.

"Be…because…" her voice was raspy and weak. She heard Mark freeze and knew that his head had whipped around to look at her in shock. This lawyer knew this man. Instead of opening her eyes to look at a reaction that she already knew about, she focused on speaking her piece. "You have those days where everything goes wrong and nothing goes your way. But the next day is always better. For me, those days last six months. Things were just…I…" she coughed slightly here, stumbling over what her drugged mind was trying to say. "It was too hard," she finally managed, sighing softly. Mark sat back down, grasping her hand firmly in his own.

"I'm sorry Jo," he whispered to her, knowingly. "I'm so sorry."