I own nothing.

Vacant Dreams

Bascially, I was going out of my mind.

I was engaged. To a wonderful guy, who was so incredibly out of my league that I doubted he'd even look at me to begin with, let alone ask the one question that I never thought I'd be asked.

I smiled like an idiot as I laid in my bed, the covers tangled about me a few days after I'd found Marc sitting in his pajamas, eating carbs and sugar, and watching reality television.

Which, right away, should have been a red flag.

He had told me that first night, that he never watches basic cable, under any circumstances. It made him feel worthless that he himself wasn't adored for just breathing.

He didn't like feeling worthless, after a childhood of being told he was.

Marc was adamant about his stance as well, proudly stating he'd never faltered. Even with the invention of Project Runway to tempt him.

...

"If my escapades were televised, do you know how much I'd get paid?" Marc had said. "All those people complain about is lack of alcohol, which isn't a bad thing, don't get me wrong, but I would draw people in."

"With your natural charisma?" I mocked.

All he did was give a glare, and all I gave him was a smile.

...

The sun filtered through the haphazard blinds as I continued to smile at every memory that ran through my mind. From our first meeting all the way up to the Oreo and PJ event.

I honestly felt like I could shout from the rooftops about how inexplicably happy I was.

I brought my hand to face, and rubbed my freshly-shaved cheek, trying everything to shake off the feeling of drowsiness as I raised myself to a sitting postion, my mattress squeaking beneath me.

I'd had an exceptionally long night, the shoot for Vera Wang had run well past two a.m., the camera needed a lense replaced at nine, and the new Mode shoot coordinator had disappeared after midnight.

By that point, the models were no longer cooperating with the photographers, and Daniel had left the office.

By the time the entire fiasco was over, it was well past three a.m. by the time I called myself a cab, and mistakenly overpaid the driver by ten bucks, before stumbling blindly into my apartment and finally, falling into my soft plaid bed, completely exhausted.

I looked at my bedside clock, which read two p.m.

Good God, I thought to myself as I hoisted my legs over the side, my feet touching the cold hardwood floor.

Stretching my arms over my head, my shirt and sweatpants wrinkled beyond recogntion. I walked to the kitchen, and grabbed myself a bottle of juice from the fridge.

I fell into my couch lazily, and picked up the remote, my finger just about to press the POWER button, when I heard a noise.

It sounded like a muffled tingling of some sort.

Placing the remote on the table in front of me, I reached down deep into the cushion to find the source for a few minutes, before finally touching smoothness.

My cell phone.

The display read that I had one new voicemail, and I hoped to God it wasn't Daniel, saying I had to redo that ridiculous photoshoot.

The second thing I hoped to God it would be was Marc.

I flipped my phone open, switching it to speakerphone so I could hear it better.

"You have one new message." the automatic voice said. "Message one, left at 10:07 a.m."

There was nothing but silence for a few moments, then I heard a sigh.

"Hey," I heard Marc say, and my heart did a little flip. "it's Marc. I was actually hoping to uh, catch you before you head out to the florist, I need to talk to you. It's, um, really important. Just come see me as soon as you can."

There was another pause, did I hear him sniffling?

"Please, Cliff." Marc's voice cracked.

I gripped the phone in response as I listened to the silence that followed, with a single resounding sigh in the background.

"End of messages."

I was terrified. All the possibilities ran through my head, but I didn't allow myself to think of the very worst one.

The worst he could do to me.

...

I waited longer than I should have to go see him. I was too afraid of what news he had to tell me, what he was too afraid to tell me over the phone.

Pulling my coat tighter around me, I checked my watch again as I waited on the front steps of my apartment for my cab to arrive.

Six thirty-seven. Damnit, he was now twenty-two minutes late, a fact reinforced by the streetlights flickering to life on either side of the busy intersection.

My nerves were frayed beyond anything I'd ever experienced before, my heart felt like it was going eighty miles an hour inside my rib cage, and my thoughts were running rampant, needless to say.

Maybe he wanted to suprise me, I thought wishfully, Maybe he's trying to catch me off-guard to do something ridiculously romantic.

I sighed, knowing that that's not what could remotely be the answer.

Finally, the guy showed up, slowing when the driver saw me perched on my stoop.

I got up, already feeling downtrodden as I opened the door, slid inside, and gave the fashionably late cabbie the address to Meade Publications.

...

I clenched and unclenched my fists as I rode the elevator up to Mode's floor, which gave me an extreme case of deja vu.

I tried to keep my breathing steady, and not try and draw attention to myself in front of the others who were crammed into the ridiculously small space.

The numerous models/assistants/bottomfeeders didn't ring a bell with me. Although there was Jenkins; a coworker who had the fidgeting and stuttering problem so badly that I had to stick him on camera repair. He was probably wondering why I was showing up to work on my day off, but that that point, I didn't really care.

Finally, to my extreme and utter relief, the elevator dinged on Mode's floor.

I swallowed before stepping out, knowing that as soon as I did I'd turn to my left, and there he'd be.

The mystery would then be over, I would have nothing to wishfully think about in ten minutes.

I took a deep breath, and turned.

Marc's back was to me, working on the picture layout for the next issue. He was wearing some tape-like green sweater, which I was sure was all the rage in the fashion world, but to me didn't suit him at all.

I noticed that his hands were slightly trembling, even from where I was standing.

I walked up to him slowly.

"Hey," I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible as I leaned on the table, facing him. "So, what did you want to tell me that was so important I had to rush over?" Did he catch my emphasis on rush?

Marc looked down, "Well," he sighed, "How do I say this?"

My stomach clenched.

"Uh, I crashed your car." he said reluctantly.

I stared, incredulous, "Oh. God!" I laughed nervously, "I thought it was something, way worse." I motioned with my hand.

I was so relieved that it wasn't what I thought it was, that I didn't even care about the car I'd just gotten repaired. I sighed again, content with the answer.

Suddenly, though, Marc's timid laugh died away, and his face looked pained as his eyes closed.

"Actually," he continued, "there...is something else."

I looked at him, confused. What else could he possibly have to tell me?

He pushed out a stool with an immaculately polished shoe, "You better sit down." Marc said as he sat on the other.

I obliged, and as I did, Marc touched my arm, almost reluctantly.

My stomach clenched again, harder and with more force this time, as he opnened his mouth to speak.

"I...I think you deserve to hear this, to know what kind of person I truly am."

I smiled nervously, grasping his hand, "I already know what kind of person you truly are, Marc. And I love you."

Marc swallowed, shaking his head, "Please, please don't say that."

I just sat there, frozen, my hand still intertwined with his.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead, "Do you remember that day when you were so mad at me for avoiding you after you asked me to move in?"

I nodded.

"Well, I was so freaked out that you weren't picking up your phone, or calling me back, that I thought we were done for good. It was then I realized how much you meant to me, and that terrified me."

"You don't think it terrifies me too, Marc? This is a huge step, this is-"

Marc waved his hand, "-not what I'm talking about. At least, not exactly.

I closed my mouth, motioning for him to continue.

Marc looked as his lap, fiddling with my fingers, "I went to Betty's party that night, and I was so scared that I'd lost you, that I had fucked up so badly, that....that....I needed to..." He trailed off, his voice cracking.

"Needed to do what, Marc? I promise, you can tell me." I said, running my thumb over his knuckles.

"I...I needed to...prove to myself..."

And that was it, I froze. "Marc." I said sternly.

He looked up at me, and the expression in his big puppy-dog eyes almost made me want to not speak the next sentence. Made me want to hold him close to me, only for as much as time would allow.

"What...did you do?" my voice cracked, giving me away.

Marc furrowed his brow guiltily. "Th-there was this guy, at the party. I-I needed to prove-"

"That you could still get some?" I blurted out, angrily.

He looked at me then, his eyes looking into mine. "That I didn't want you, that I didn't need you."

My anger began rising at rapid speed.

Sighing again, he continued, "But it proved nothing, Cliff. He didn't mean anything to me, I don't even remember him. All I could think about, was that I still want you, and most of all, I need you."

I laughed, throwing his hand back into his lap, "Well, I don't want you, and I sure as hell don't need you!" I stood up, nearly knocking over the stool behind me.

"Cliff!" Marc pleaded, placing a hand on my shoulder, "I'm-I'm sorry."

I shrugged off his hand, unable to say anymore as I turned around, tears filling my eyes as I ran a hand through my hair.

I begin walking the longest walk of my life, back to the elevator.

And this time, he didn't follow me.

...

A/N: Hello readers! I apologize for abandoning this story, I've just been extremely busy, but all is well. And the newest chapter is here. I repeat, NOT THE END. I love this couple too much to leave off where the show did. Anyway, I hope you all review, because I love those! :)