A/N: Sorry for the delay. I'm writing three different stories right now and my job gets a little crazy. But now that work is done with, I can focus on my writing.


Connie woke up from her sleep to see that the side Mike was previously on was vacated. She went ballistic. Where was he? Did he leave? She worried enough to get a mild headache. She got up and looked around for him. She ran to the living room, and she saw Mike with an open appeal in front of him. "Mike!" she growled in anger. "You should be in bed."

He jumped at the sudden anger in her voice. He didn't want her mad at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Sitting in a bed by myself just doesn't do it for me."

Connie's expression softened a little bit. "I know," she said, "I'm like that, too." He looked a little broken up about something.

He turned his head away from her. "Hey," she whispered, "what's wrong?"

"I keep seeing him," he whispered.

"Seeing who?" asked Connie.

"Mark, that barista," he answered uneasily. "I see him pointing a gun at you, only this time I wasn't quick enough and you died at the scene." Tears fell down he cheeks. A few tears escaped Connie's eyes as well.

"Hey," she whispered, "I have dreams about you stepping in front of me and dying on the spot also." She also added, "I hope you remember the nightmares I was having." He nodded. She caressed his face in her hands. He let her do so. She wanted him to understand that everything was alright, that they were both alive, and they were right there. They were in each other's eyes, not in graves. The caress soon turned into a kiss. "Come back to bed," she ordered in a whisper, "at least lie down right next to me to make sure I'm there." He attempted to stand up with Connie's help, and he gratefully crawled back into bed with her at his side. Leaning against him, she gave him the notion that whatever will happen or is going to happen in the future. This time, he wrapped his arms around her before she fell asleep. He didn't let go until she woke up.


It's been two weeks. Jack still tried to make him take off from work, but he refused to do so. It was frustrating to both Jack (who thought he wasn't ready to come back to work) and Connie (who wished he'd stay home and rest).

"Connie I'd already gotten grief from you at home this morning," he complained as Connie followed him into his office.

"Mike, honey," she said, "I really think you should be at home. I want you to rest."

"FYI, Connie," he began, "I'm not going home. I'm a grown man. Also, the doctor said stay in bed for two weeks and no sex for a month!"

"Whoa, whoa," said Jack as he slid into the room right on cue, "what is this I heard about sex? That's not happening is it?"

"No, Jack!" sprouted Connie through clenched teeth, "we can't do that for a month. Doctor's orders."

Jack looked from Connie to Mike and then back to Connie. She'd never seen Connie so agitated before. It made him a little nervous. "So, then what's the argument about?" asked Jack.

"She's mad because I didn't stay home like a sick puppy," Mike threw in.

Connie's face turned red with anger. The reddish hue spread throughout her tan skinned body. "That is not true and you know it!" she squealed, "I just don't think that you've healed enough to work."

"Connie," interjected Jack, "I think that Mike can make his own decision-."

"Jack!" she stammered, "don't get involved! It's bad enough as it is!" She began to exit the room.

"You just can't stand to lose an argument," Mike realized.

"Dammit Mike!" she yelled, slamming a fist on the door, "that is not what I feel and you know it!" She stormed out of the room and back to her desk. She fought back tears until that point, when she let them take over as she slumped into her seat. She took the picture of Mike on her desk and hugged it to her chest. "Mike," she whispered through tears, "I just can't stand the thought of losing you."


Jack stared at Mike, who was watching the door like a puppy. He was waiting for Connie to open the door, but she never did. "Give it up, Mike," ordered Jack. "The only way she'll come back is if you talk to her yourself." Mike seemed to be way ahead of him because he was already out the door.

When he approached her desk, he saw her crying over some work. He sat down next to her, and she turned her head away from him. She didn't want him to see her face. "I'm sorry, Connie," he said.

"About what?" she asked, still not facing him.

"Not listening to you," he answered.

She stood up from her desk and turned to the opposite wall of the room. She didn't want to say anything more. But she did. "I just don't think I could go through all that pain again," she whispered. "I don't want there to somehow be complications to your injury that might put you into a permanent coma or… or kill you. I j-just don't think I could go through the pain again." She leaned against the glass of the window she was facing to let tears fall free without him noticing. He walked up to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She continued to look out the window, staring at the moving people through tears. She didn't look at Mike. She couldn't. Mike did it for her.

He turned her until he could see her face. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that he was alive and that he felt fine. She looked down, but he lifted her chin to see puffy red eyes and tearstained cheeks. He kissed her and then pulled her against him. She leaned her face against his shoulder and took in the embrace. "No matter what happens, I'm by your side. Don't ever come to the conclusion that I'll never be around." He looked at her with all the love in the world, like she was the only woman there. All he wanted was her love. She was there to give it to him.