A note before you indulge: Many of you in your reviews have expressed your desire to see Sully bring Michaela up to speed in terms of the existence of their romantic feelings.

However, I feel it is necessary to clarify before you read this that those are your estimations. In the story, I have only said that Sully has had fleeting thoughts of romantic feelings for Michaela, though he has stowed them away under lock and key, much like in the series. The feelings have been there, and he has felt them, but hasn't allowed himself the luxury of acknowledging them to himself, much less naming them. Instead, he has focused, with a pure and whole heart, on their friendship, on caring for her.

I just felt it was important to take a moment to clarify; I was worried otherwise you might be confused as you read this chapter.

And now, please enjoy:

Chapter 28

Sully lay awake for some time that morning, Michaela cradled protectively in his arms, unable to sleep despite the long waking hours of the previous night. He was tormented by their sudden loss, what it meant for each of them, for both of them. He felt as if Josef had somehow been their anchor just by the nature of his presence, a grounding force in their friendship, and now that it had been taken away, they could find that stability again only by clinging to one another.

Suddenly he was very aware of the slight form in his arms, how important she was to him, and how much he wanted to, needed to, protect and defend her. Her body felt small against him, warm and vulnerable and delicate. He noted first the sensation of the silken strands of her hair against his cheek, its fragrance light and fresh, then the smooth curve of her back under his palms, tapering down to the narrow curve of her waist, and the small points of her knees pressing against his thighs. She was warm, soft, relaxed. There was something infinitely sweet about holding her in a vulnerable moment like this, knowing the compelling, indomitable persona she presented in the medical world, and knowing at the same time that she would only trust this part of herself to few others.

Discreetly, he rubbed his newly shaven cheek against her hair, reveling in the soft feel and sweet scent of it. Closing his eyes, he drew in a slow breath, thinking how much he cared for this woman, then feeling the ache of loss flare in his heart again, the love and the ache somehow intensifying one another.

He knew it was growing into late morning, and they should get back to the hospital to take care of the remaining details and arrangements following Josef's passing. He rubbed her back slowly with increasing pressure, hoping to rouse her gently from sleep. She stirred, pressing her face more firmly against his breastbone, curling her shoulders into him.

"Michaela?" he whispered, brushing his hand lightly over her hair.

"Hm?" She felt as if she were a little girl again, buried in the depths of her warm, down duvet, reality and its responsibilities far out of mind.

"It's getting late," he murmured. "We ought to get back to the hospital." In that moment, reality came rushing back full force, and she felt suddenly overwhelmed and anxious under the weight of it. He brushed his hand over her shoulder, squeezing it lightly as she abruptly pulled away and sat up, once again unable to rest. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned, and sat up himself.

When she turned to look at him, her eyes were filled with anxiety and grief. "What time is it?"

"Just half past nine… you didn't sleep too long…"

"I need to get back—"

"Hold on." He grasped her shoulder, preventing her from rising from the bed. "Why don't you take a few minutes and freshen up."

"…Sully."

"A few minutes won't make a difference. I'll make sure Cummings has the carriage ready, alright?"

She sighed. He was probably right.

Over the course of the day, Sully and Michaela faced every decision, every emotion, every obstacle, in tandem. They supported Elizabeth, encouraging her to rest. They skillfully managed a difficult Maureen, Claudette, and Marjorie, appeasing some preferences and denying others. Alongside Rebecca, they arranged the funeral service and wake. Michaela presented a practical, articulate, and deliberate gentleness in her interactions with family, doctors, and clergy, and Sully offered compassionate, firm support, simplicity, and reason. He was constantly at her shoulder, his presence giving her strength. Her eyes, solitary, veiled windows to her emotions, frequently met his in a gesture of thanks and compassion.

That evening, Sully encouraged Michaela to take a long, relaxing bath before both retired to bed.

Listless, she sat in the tub until the water grew cold, staring absently around the tiled washroom. Finally, her shivering shook her alert and she rose from the tub, toweling her hair and wrapping herself in a thick robe, oblivious at the moment to the July heat.

She sat for some time at her vanity, distractedly brushing her wet hair until it was almost dry, the emptiness in her mind keeping sorrow at bay. Finally, with nothing else to do, she slipped on a nightdress and crawled under the covers, hoping to slip quickly into the thick, numb sleep she'd experienced that morning.

Still, she felt restless. At first, she thought it was her father's cologne that filled her lungs, but quickly noted the absence of the smoky depth brought on by his tobacco pipe. No, this was a spicy, woodsy scent that evoked in her feelings of familiarity and security, calm, and momentarily, she placed it. Sully. He had rested with her this morning, and his scent still lingered on the pillows.

She smiled tiredly. Sully. Despite his own, evident grief, he had been a source of strength, support, and teamwork today that she hadn't thought she wouldn't know completely after Josef passed. He had been utterly selfless, putting his foot down with Claudette and his arm around Elizabeth at just the right moments. And helpful and commanding as he had been, not once had he disempowered her, but reiterated her decisions and authority without trying to overshadow her.

She thought of how he'd let her cry this morning, encouraged it. He'd known she needed that release, and he'd held her through it, never allowing her to think she faced this loss alone. He was so strong and warm, so solid when she felt as if the world were made of sand, sifting elusively through her fingers. But Sully would always remain, it occurred to her, even if the world were to fall through her fingers, he would remain.

Wide awake, despite her fatigue, she suddenly felt as if a broad chasm separated them, each wall and door exacerbating the emptiness she felt in her own room. Impulsively, she rose from her bed, wrapping her dressing gown around her and padding the short distance down the hall to Sully's room.

Michaela knocked lightly and waited, each passing second building her apprehension. She shouldn't be disturbing him at this hour; he was exhausted. Mentally scolding herself, she turned away from the door.

"Michaela?" She whirled around, embarrassed.

The door opened to reveal a slightly disheveled Sully, lamp in hand, his hair messed and his eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep.

"Sully. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I—"

He opened the door wider, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. Ignoring her apology, he caressed her shoulder. "You okay?" he whispered.

"I was just… I…" Her words failing her, she dropped her eyes, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed.

"Come here."

Gently, he guided her into his room, set the lamp on the bedside table, and shut the door, his hand never leaving her back. He encouraged her to sit on the bed, and sat next to her, pulling his arm around her shoulders.

His voice was hoarse with turmoil when he spoke. "I couldn't sleep. I just keep thinking, if I'd been home sooner, I could've seen him one more time, and maybe I would've told him how much he meant to me…"

Listening to him, Michaela's eyes filled with tears at his heartbreak. "Oh, Sully, none of us knew. We all wish we could have said more, could have said good-bye. There was just no warning…"

"I know. In my mind I know it's true, but it's hard to let that change how I feel."

Boldly, she squeezed his hand, offering support and reassurance. "I know… I've struggled with similar thoughts, wishing I'd been there, but… You can't blame yourself, Sully. There was nothing anyone could have done."

"Yeah..." He swallowed hard, as tormented as she was by the loss.

"…He— We'll never… Never…" Her breath hitched, tears filling large, tortured eyes once more.

Sully pulled her closer, the pain fresh, raw, deep. Her left hand came up around his neck, as she clung to him, and he rubbed her back in deep strokes, and they sat together thus for some time, further words unnecessary.

Eventually, she pulled back a little so she could see him. "…Sully, I need—I… I don't want… to be alone… I—"

He rubbed tears from her cheeks with his thumb, and shook his head. "Me neither. Do—do you want to stay here tonight?"

Biting her lip shyly, she nodded.

And thus, a new pattern was established. Each evening, Sully and Michaela would prepare for bed in their individual rooms, and then find each other, slipping into one or the other's bed, sometimes talking, sometimes just holding one another, and, in so doing, meeting a need for security and belonging they'd been unaware of prior to Josef's death.

Often one or the other would wake in the morning to find Michaela clutching his arm, or he spooned against her back. Shyly, they would separate, embarrassed at their actions even in sleep, and return to their separate rooms to dress. For each, the connection they felt to the other grew deeper, and though each had yet to give name to that emotion, Jane and Cummings had the distinct impression that their employers were falling in love.

In that way, weeks passed without further advent. Michaela continued to hold office hours and see patients out of the office she'd shared with Josef in the Quinn home, with frequent visits to the hospital to complete rounds, give operations, and see patients. Sully attended occasional meetings in New York and Philadelphia, but was able to complete most of his work through telegrams and research conducted within the Boston city limits. They often invited Jane and Cummings to join them for dinner, despite the gap society would open between them, and the maid and butler's growing loyalty to their employers was a direct result of the deepening friendships between the two couples.

One morning early in August, Sully stormed out of the post office, feeling the urge to punch something. Hard. Retracing his steps on a whim, he returned to the counter to send an urgent telegram, and was rewarded two hours later when Cummings brought a response to him at his desk. No, the orders could not be modified. Angry, he slammed his fist on the desk, and then took a measured breath, considering his options.

There was a considerate knock to the open door, but Michaela didn't hear it. She was absorbed with her patient file, and preoccupied by both the dwindling number of loyal patients since her father's death and thoughts of the warm embrace in which she wanted to seek refuge from her impending failure.

Her visitor studied her, brow creased in apparent concentration, slim body poised erect behind the massive desk, bottom lip caught between her teeth. He chuckled to himself. It was rare she did that anymore, Elizabeth having polished the habit away, and now it only happened when she was truly free of self-conscious thought. There was something sweet about it though, and innocent.

Shifting on his feet, he cleared his throat. "Michaela?"

Her head snapped up, surprised to see him here at this hour. Had something happened?

"Sully? Is everything all right?"

"I just wanted to talk to you." He ventured into the room. "Do you have a minute?"

She hesitated, looking back down at her chart, then resolutely put her pencil down. "Yes, of course." She gestured to the chair opposite her. "Please. Sit."

He drew in a slow breath, releasing it in a sigh. "I got a telegram from Lewiston this morning."

"Lewiston?"

He nodded. "My boss. They want me to go back to Colorado."

"Well, you seemed to enjoy it last time," she reasoned.

"In two weeks."

"Two weeks…"

"I tried to tell 'em I needed longer, that there'd been a death in the family, but they wouldn't hear it. I've got to go… Or lose my job."

"You can't do that, Sully, you love your work." She looked down, shaking her head. "I'd never ask you to do that."

"I know you wouldn't. But now isn't a good time to travel—"

"…How long?"

He sighed again, leaning back in the chair. "Could be a few months… I don't know…."

"A few months? Have your trips ever been so long before?"

"Occasionally, when they're having a lot of problems in a particular area… Michaela—"

"You should go."

The resolve in her tone surprised him. "You sure?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure."

He leaned forward in disbelief. "But we're both still mourning—"

"I know. I know we are." She reached across the desk and covered his hand with her own small one. "And you've helped me through it, Sully. I don't know what I would have done without you here."

He swallowed hard, inexplicably unable to look away from her eyes. "You've helped me too."

She glanced down humbly, her eyes returning to his filled with an assurance he hadn't seen in some time. "But Father would want you to go. He wouldn't want us moping around, he would want us to be happy, and fulfilled, doing what we love. For me, that means fighting to keep this practice alive. For you, it means traveling. You have to go."

Carefully running the blade over his jaw, Sully watched Michaela out of the corner of his eye. He had woken still holding her hand, and releasing it, he had expected her to wake, but instead she'd moaned a little and turned away, her breathing evening out again within moments. Now, she slept peacefully on her side, her hands folded under her cheek, hair splayed in loose curls behind her.

After the closeness they had shared this past month, he was reluctant to leave her, especially for a long trip. Yet she had been so stoic about it, so matter of fact, that he felt like a fool voicing his feelings. Clearly, she didn't share them. Or maybe he was hesitant because somewhere, deep down, he knew his reluctance was born out of forbidden territory, and putting voice to it might somehow make something real which was never supposed to exist, and which never could.

Finished shaving, he combed his fingers through his hair, wondering if he should cut it short again. It was practical in the field, being low maintenance, but certainly not stylish, or perhaps even respectable, here in Boston. Maybe he would cut it when he got home.

He glanced at Michaela again as he sifted through the stack of neatly folded clothing Jane had left him, making sure he had everything he needed. He would have to wake her soon.

A shaft of sunlight slanted through the curtains, casting its soft glow across Michaela's features, and rousing her from her sleep. She and Sully had talked long into the night, neither wanting to let go of the other, each secretly hoping morning would never come. Somehow, over the last several days, their mourning, though still present, had begun to transform into something else, something sweet and fulfilling between them. As she often did sleeping next to Sully, she felt perfectly warm and comfortable, though this morning, the heat to which she'd become accustomed on his side of the bed was absent, cool sheets in its place.

Gradually, her mind registered shuffling sounds at the foot of the bed, and she opened her eyes to see Sully straighten his jacket before turning to secure his traveling case. Sitting up in the bed, she stretched a little, feeling fatigue pull at her muscles.

"What time is it?"

He hadn't noticed her sit up, and now looking at her, eyes sleepy and soft, her hair tousled from sleep, he felt something swell in his chest. Quickly, he choked it down, turning his attention back to his case with effort.

"Seven thirty. I was about to wake you."

She put her fleet on the floor, rising to slip her feet into her slippers as she pulled on her robe, automatically pulling her hair out of the collar and letting it fall down her back.

Again, he turned his eyes away, feeling overly sentimental and determinedly blaming it on his impending departure.

"I can't believe I slept so late. You could have woken me sooner," she chided gently.

"I know, but you needed your sleep. We've still got time before we need to go." He placed his briefcase, packed last night, on top of his traveling case.

"I'll just get dressed and meet you downstairs for breakfast," she promised as she left the room.

Don't go. Don't go, she wanted to tell him. I don't understand it, perhaps refuse to admit it to myself, but I need you.

Silently, Michaela stood at Sully's side, watching as people began to board the train as she forcefully tamped her thoughts down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sully turn toward her, and faced him, drawing a careful veil over her burgeoning emotions.

He grasped her arm, steadying her as people pushed past.

"You take care," he urged, the intensity of his eyes giving life to the cliché phrase.

"I will," she promised. "And you be careful," she exhorted, a maternal glint in her eye.

His mouth formed a wry half-smile. "I will," he promised sincerely.

"I'll send a letter tomorrow. It won't be too far behind you…"

He nodded. "Thanks. I'll wire when I get there, and write back as soon as I can."

She nodded, her lip caught between her teeth, biting back surprisingly involuntary words. I love you. He swallowed hard, surprised at the words he'd almost instinctively voiced, grateful he'd caught himself, and hugged her tightly, breathing her in, memorizing the feel and the shape of her.

Mindful of, and in that moment thankful for, the pushing crowd, she returned the hug stiffly, bringing her gloved hands loosely over his shoulder blades. She began to pull away, and sensing the movement he released her, their eyes meeting. Amber, jade, sapphire, mingled, fused, and severed in the space of a moment, leaving both with a sense of utter gain and loss that was at once tangible and elusive.

Pulling away, he released her, squeezing her fingers lightly before lifting his satchel an turning to climb aboard the train to St. Louis.

Lawdy mercy, this chapter just kept growin' and growin'! You'll have to pardon my drawl; I do believe the good ol' down home holiday feast on the horizon is affectin' my speech

I hope you enjoyed this weekend treat! I'll see y'all again Tuesday night or Wednesday morning… keep them eyes peeled!