While Maria was in the bathroom that night, Michael dialed Isabel's number. It was Jesse who answered the call, and upon hearing who was on the line, his voice tensed and hardened. "Isabel's having a difficult time right now," the lawyer told him. "Don't keep forcing her, because she's going to decide this by herself." Michael was surprised at Jesse's answer. He had known for sometime that Jesse Ramirez had found out about the three of them, and decided to turn a blind eye to it because of his feelings for Isabel. He had never known Jesse to take an active part, much less a protective part, on Isabel's alien origins.
"I know, Jesse. So am I. You're confusing me with Max," Michael replied calmly. "I have as much reason to want to stay here as Isabel. Maybe more. Now put her on the line."
When the phone was passed to her, Isabel held on to it tightly. "What did Max tell you, Michael?" she demanded. "I saw the way you looked when he left. I know Max can be hard at times. Ruthless when he wants to."
"Let's face it," Michael told her. "Max has more to think about, with a child lost there somewhere."
"If we help him find his son, we lose people we love." Michael did not answer. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maria leave the bathroom and go into their bedroom. "What if our destiny really lies out there, Michael, and we gave it up because we were too scared? How can Max be this selfish?"
Selfish. The word brought to mind an entirely different image, a whole new face, and it was not Max Evans holding on to his child at the expense of his sister and best friend that he saw. It was himself, kissing Maria, holding her so tenderly in his arms that she never wanted to leave, and the sun was behind him, his broad back blocking the light from her. "Isabel, I'm going."
"What?"
"We all have paths to follow, and I'm not keeping anyone from his happiness."
"You mean Max?" she asked.
"Him too."
"What?"
"Listen, Iz. I have to go. I'm not wasting my last night here talking to you on the phone about your crazy brother. Just… whatever you decide, Iz, I will never think different of you."
The pause was long, and Michael began to wonder if Isabel had hung up. "Okay," the young woman said slowly, "I think I should say my goodbyes to my husband."
"Isabel—" Michael began to protest, but Isabel cut him off.
"Together, Michael, remember? We promised. We owe it to Max, to Antar. To ourselves." And then she hung up the phone.
Michael stared at the receiver for the longest time, before replacing it on the hook. Just like that, he had destroyed Jesse Ramirez's future.
He turned back towards the bedroom, this time to destroy his heart.
~~
Michael took off his shoes and climbed into bed. He watched Maria brushing her hair in front of the dresser. The blonde strands hung like a lovely silk scarf down her back, and he smiled at memories of running his fingers through it. His hands have been blessed for the most amazing half decade. His fingers have run through that hair when it was short, and the tendrils sprung free easily and quickly, like a child that would not allow himself to be held when he could go and play. His fingers have run through that hair when it was long, down to the small of her back, and the ends curled around his wrists gently but surely, possessing him, almost not wanting to let him go. His fingers have run through her hair when it was straight, and down to her upper arms. At that time he could remember that he needed more, just like when it was long, but the hair was short enough that he could not get enough, and he kept wishing she would grow it. She was hesitant.
Now Michael could just wish she would move closer to him, so he could touch her again. He wanted to breathe her in, not just her the scent of her hair, or the fragrance of her skin. He wanted to breathe in Maria, so he wouldn't miss her when he left, because then, she'd be in his bloodstream, and he would take her with him.
"Michael," came the quiet voice, "we've been together for years. We've been living together, loving each other the way I see husbands and wives do, and only one thing is missing. Why didn't you ever marry me, Michael?"
She did not sound accusing, or angry. But Michael could hear the hurt and pain in every word. He was off the bed and standing behind her, looking into her reflection in the mirror. "Because no matter how much I wished that I didn't have to leave, I knew that sooner or later my past would catch up with me. I didn't want to tie you to me that much and that finally only to hurt you."
She whirled around and faced him, looking up with blazing eyes. "That's nothing but crap! Do I look like I'm not hurting?" she demanded. "Isn't it clear to you that it IS too late for that? I'm already in love with you, that much, that finally," she emphasized. And then her voice fell a few notches, softening, and it hit him with more helplessness and sadness than if she had dissolved into tears and yelled the words to him. "Don't you know, Michael, that I would have wanted to know that sometime in my life, somewhere in the universe, you had been mine, only mine? Not Antar's, not Max's, not Isabel's. Just mine."
Michael was quiet. He looked down at her and he knew that she was fighting her damnedest to hold back the tears that were pooling in her upturned eyes. "What if it were just for one night?" he asked.
He knelt before her, so she would not have to crane her neck. She followed him with her gaze, and in the process the tears spilled over. "Even one second."
"I'll give you the entire night, and the morning after, until the last second I'm here. If you want me."
"What do you mean?" Maria asked breathlessly.
Michael pulled from her finger the ring he had been wearing ever since they met. He had never taken it off since he got it, and unencumbered by the metal, he felt something missing from him. He held it up between their faces and turned it around. "I'm sorry I can give you only this. Marry me," he said.
And then she began to sob. Maria, who never let anyone see her crying. Maria, who would rather turn away and leave rather than throw a hissing fit when he told her that he could not get intense, and that she was only good for kissing. Maria, who always smiled at him like he was heaven and she had died. Maria cried. And Maria threw her arms around his neck and cried, "Oh my God, I should have known even in proposing you'd be ordering me around!"
She stood up and ran to the closet, throwing the clothes they had only that afternoon unpacked out on the bed. She checked each and every one, and Michael shifted on his knees worriedly. "Maria, what are you doing?"
"Looking for clothes to get married in!" He let out an audible breath and stood up, caught the pants and shirt she threw at him. "What?" she asked.
"The answer is yes then?"
"What?"
"Yes, you're marrying me? Coz you never did answer."
"Michael… it's me remember?" When he still seemed unsure, she squealed, "YES!"
Uncharacteristically, Michael threw down the clothes on the floor and strode over to her across the room. He grabbed her into his tight embrace and did not kiss her. He just buried his face in her neck. And Maria felt a trickle of warm wetness there on her shoulders.
