The Bad Day (Part 2)

The apartment was foreign yet familiar. Her apartment. Although she didn't remember moving in or painting the accent wall red or anything else about the place. Her furniture looked the same with a few new pieces thrown in here and there. She paused at the end table in the front entryway. Framed photos scattered the tabletop, but only one caught her eye. She and Greg- apparently not a stranger- were smiling for the camera. They looked happy together, relaxed. A faint time stamp at the bottom right hand corner revealed a date.

"How long have we been together?" She turned to him as he closed the front door. "Three years?" she asked, looking once again at the picture's date.

"No, no. We've been friends for about four years, but this…," he coughed, his gaze not quite meeting her eyes. "This is new."

"How new?"

He didn't answer as he darted to the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink? Water? Juice, maybe?"

"No, that's okay," she said following him.

There was a momentary silence as Greg downed a glass of water. He seemed nervous.

"The doctor said you should drink plenty of fluids." He refilled his glass.

She was half listening, her mind wandering elsewhere. "So, do you stay here a lot?"

His eyebrows knitted at her question. Maybe she wasn't being clear.

"I mean, you said this thing between us was new, but we obviously have a history so I guess I was just wondering if we've, you know, been intimate?"

He choked on the water he was sipping, his eyes widening as he gasped for breath. Sensing his distress, she walked over and rubbed his back, trying to help him recover.

"No," he said finding his voice, "we haven't had…" He paused, blushing. "Are you sure you don't want something to drink?"

She smiled. He was cute in this completely awkward way. Definitely her type.

"Actually, now that you mentioned it, I could really go for some juice."

She made Greg tell her everything about himself…and herself. He was so animated describing everything. She wondered if he was like this all the time. What was she normally like around him? She didn't know if she was the same person or not. If she was the girl Greg knew and… loved? No, cared about. That was better. It was hard to think about being in love with someone you had just met. Although Morgan's heart was arguing with her brain on the matter, thumping wildly every time his knee hit hers as they sat on the couch together. Obviously her heart remembered things her mind wouldn't.

She felt the tears forming in her eyes. She tried to blink them back before he noticed. She failed.

He swiped one falling down her cheek. "Hey," he said softly,"it's going to be okay."

"How do you know? You seem like this great guy, but what if I never remember you or us? What if these past four years were the best of my life and I never get them back?"

He drew her into a hug as the sobs overcame her. He brushed her hair behind an ear and whispered into it.

"You once told me something that really stuck. You said the best is yet to come. Yes, what you are going through sucks, but your life isn't over. Your best years are still waiting to be lived."

She pulled back from his embrace slightly until they were face to face, noses touching. She felt his breath hitch as she moved to kiss him. Her lips pressed into his, lightly at first, but as his parted and his grip on her tighten, drawing her closer, she found herself lost in the kiss. She had secretly hoped it would spark a memory, give her just a taste of what she was missing, but kissing Greg was like nothing she could ever remember feeling before. It was better than anything she could remember feeling before.

When she broke away, he stared at her, almost stunned.

"Wow." She was suddenly very self conscious, running a finger over her tingling lips. "Is it always like that?"

Greg leaned down and captured her mouth with his again before she could ask another question. She melted into him.

He pulled away, breathing heavily. "Yeah," he said, leaning his forehead against hers. "Every time."

"Greg," the sheriff's voice startled him. He turned to see hard cold eyes staring him down. "A word." Ecklie's arms crossed over his chest. He nodded to the chair opposite his desk as Greg entered his office.

"Sir?"

"First, I wanted to thank you for taking care of Morgan while I was out of town." The sheriff shook his head, his voice softening.

"I can't believe she doesn't remember the last few years," he sighed, rubbing his face. "When I saw her, she looked at me almost disgusted. Just like she used to before…before she came here."

Greg nodded, not really sure where this conversation was headed. "I'm sorry, Conrad. This has been hard on her too."

" I know, I know. She doesn't trust me right now, and I can't blame her. I remember where we were before our breakthrough, and it was a rough place. Look the reason I called you in here is I thought you could talk to her for me. For the past couple of weeks since this whole thing happened, you seem to be the only one she trusts."

Greg winced at his words. The last month he had felt closer to Morgan than he ever had before. He had reintroduced her to their friends and co-workers and had taken her out on a few dates around the city. He wanted to tell her the truth, but every time he tried the words wouldn't form. The fantasy was just too appealing to let go of. He was falling hard. Honestly, he had been for years but would never admit it until now. Now that he knew he stood a chance with her. But he was about to lose all of it. He was the only one she truly trusted and he had lied to her.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, the knot in his stomach growing tighter at the thought of telling Morgan the truth.

"Greg, are okay? You seem distracted." Morgan rubbed her thumb gently over the back of his hand as she held it. They were sitting next to each other at a fancy French restaurant that she had been dying to try. Apparently, she had studied abroad a semester in college and was desperate to grasp at a comforting memory that she could actually recall.

Just tell her, he thought staring into her concerned blue eyes. She will understand. She may even forgive you.

"Actually-"

"Oh my God!" she squealed cutting him off. Her jaw dropped and contoured into a smile. "Greg, I just remembered something. About us."

"Really? What? How?" His previous train of thought was lost.

"I think it was the first time I met you. You were wearing that shirt," she pointed to the blue button up under his khaki jacket, "and I made some corny joke about you looking like a nerd. You were so flustered." She laughed. " You were adorable."

"Oh God, what made you think of that?" Greg groaned sheepishly.

"Well, Dr. Davis said my memories might start to return and more often as my brain began healing. He said different things could trigger it, like colors or smells. It must have been your shirt that set it off. Isn't that great?"

Greg gave her a small grin, taking a sip of his wine. "That's wonderful." And awful at the same time. Soon, she would realize. Soon she would know the truth: that he was nothing but a coward using her situation to finally make a move on her. The ugliness of it all churned in the pit of his stomach along with his wine, threatening to make a reappearance in the most horrible fashion.

"Oh, Greg, I'm so sorry. You were saying something before I interrupted." She blinked her sweet innocent eyes at him.

"I've just had a lot on my mind lately." He swirled the remaining wine in his glass watching it move with fascination. Anything to keep himself from looking at her trusting face.

Her hand caught his forearm, stilling him. "Well, maybe I can help you clear it for a while." Her seductive sound drew his attention immediately. She lowered her voice to a whisper as she lightly trailed her fingers up and down his arm. "You've been so patient, helping me get through this and all, and, well, I feel comfortable with you again. Enough to finally take the next step." Greg gulped, registering her words and their inopportune timing. She leaned in, her lips tracing the curve of his ear. "How about after dinner you come back to my place and clear your head?"

Shit. He was screwed. Fucked. Damned to hell. Because everything north of his belt buckle refused to function properly. He couldn't do that to her, and yet all he could think about at that particular moment was doing it with her. God, he hoped his conscience kicked in again before dessert.

A/N: Sorry, this got longer than I originally thought. I'll end it in part 3.