Chapter 19

She found herself kind of lost the next day. She tried working on her case study, tried working on an assignment for 'Higher Education Law and Policy,' even tried letting Liz, Tom and Mark distract her with a stupid comedy movie, but none of it worked. She couldn't get her mind away from the fact that she was going to see Josh the next afternoon.

On one hand, she couldn't wait to see him. But the thought of the conversation she was sure they were going to have made her physically sick. Why she left, why she hadn't contacted him when she moved to town, why he'd been so angry with her when they ran into each other the first few times. She was going to have to sit there and listen to him tell her that she'd hurt him, and she was going to have to take responsibility for that pain, because it was all her fault. Every single bit of it.

And she was going to have to be completely honest with him. The lie she'd been telling herself, that the past no longer mattered, had crumbled around her, and the truth was her one final chance, if she had a chance left at all. She thought she did have that chance, if the flowers and the sound of his voice when he told her he missed her were any indication, and no matter how small a chance it was, she would take it. She would take it and fight for him with it; she wouldn't give him up again.

But the truth wasn't going to contain everything he wanted to hear. Would she have stayed had she known? Absolutely, no questions asked. Looking back, would that have been the right decision? That she couldn't be sure about. She'd made something of her life. Something she may or may not have been able to make with him, and while she wanted to believe that he would've supported those changes, she couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't have chosen to make them. So yes she regretted leaving, had every single day since doing it, but she didn't regret it completely and she hoped he could understand that.

And Michael… she was sure he'd ask about Michael and the phone call, and the thought of it brought up memories of Jeff. They'd only been dating for three months when he found out Michael was paying her tuition, and she certainly hadn't been in love with him, but his disgust at her still stung. The sleaze that oozed from his voice as he asked if it was worth it, the nauseous feeling in her stomach when he offered to pay if she'd repay him the way she did Michael, the sting of her hand when she slapped his face… She'd never told anyone about that conversation, not a soul, and she couldn't even fathom Josh reacting the same way, but the seed of doubt had been planted a year earlier.

She didn't sleep at all on Saturday night, and if she had gone back over the past week and counted, she would've known she'd gotten less than twenty hours of sleep in seven nights. But she didn't do the math, and she didn't pay attention to the lack of food she'd been eating. She didn't want to know how bad it was getting, didn't want to think about the past or how easily she could slip back into the unhealthy person she'd been years earlier. So when her mother asked, she said she was fine; that there was no need to worry.

She tried to do a little research on child prison inmate rights that next morning after her bi-weekly phone call to her parents, but even rehabilitation versus throwing away the key wasn't enough to keep her mind off of Josh, so after a half a piece of toast and a few sips of black coffee, she showered and got ready.

She chose to walk to his townhouse. She was early and it was only three blocks away, plus she feared she might not be in the shape to drive afterwards. It was a sunny day; chilly, but not bad for November, and the fresh air helped her relax a little. As she approached his building, she looked up the stairs that led to his townhouse and her fate, and she scolded herself for just a second for being so maudlin. But it was true; she could feel it.

It took her a second to gain the courage, but she finally rang his buzzer, and a minute later, she stood in front of his door. She knocked and looked down at her shaking hands, and when he opened the door she looked up and smiled nervously at him. He watched her for a few seconds, neither of them saying anything, but she didn't trust her voice to be the first to speak. When he finally said hello, she glanced down and willed herself to calm down. "Hi," she said, looking back up at him. When he didn't say anything else, she looked over his shoulder into the townhouse. "Can I…"

His eyes went wide and he stepped back to let her inside. "Oh, I'm sorry. Please… come in."

"Thanks," she said, walking into the foyer. There was some more awkwardness after that before he took her jacket and got her a glass of water. And then they were sitting very far apart from each other on a couch and a chair in his living room, and she wished he'd come closer. She couldn't help thinking that she'd have more courage if he'd just come closer.

"How have you been?" he asked after more silence.

She wanted to tell him she'd been horrible. That she missed him and his smile and his energy. That she couldn't sleep and couldn't eat, and that it actually scared her to need him that much. "Good," she said unconvincingly. "You?"

He nodded. "Good."

"Good," she said, picking up her water and staring blindly inside of it while the silence once again took over. She didn't believe him, it was written in his eyes, and she blamed herself again, because she should've told him the truth. She told herself she'd tell him the truth.

"Horrible," he said out of nowhere, and she looked quickly up at him.

"What?"

"I said 'horrible.' I've been horrible."

His honesty was refreshing and almost made her smile. "Oh."

"I don't want…" he paused and stared at her. "I can't…" he let out a deep breath and started again. "…lie to you. I need to be honest and the truth is I've had a really hard week."

She almost smiled; this was why they were there, and she was glad he hadn't let them take the easy way out. "Why?" she asked softly.

He seemed surprised by her question but looked directly at her as he answered. "A few reasons; reasons I need to tell you about. But mostly because I didn't see you."

It came as a relief, that he'd felt her absence the way she'd felt his. She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth, so she looked back into her glass before taking a small drink. Summoning up the courage, she brought the glass down and continued looking inside. "Well, as long as we're being honest, I've been miserable."

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

She looked up at nodded. "I've been really confused, and I've been… scared that I wouldn't see you again."

"I've been worried you wouldn't want to."

Her voice threatened to crack, and she looked back at the glass. "I didn't want you to go in the first place," she whispered. He had to know that; she'd begged him to stay.

"I had to," he said softly but with resolve.

"You said that," she said equally as softly, as though if they said these things to each other quietly, they wouldn't sting as badly. She wondered if that was true.

"I'm sorry it hurt you when I left. That wasn't my intention."

"I know," she whispered, closing her eyes for just a second and thinking the exact same thing, hoping that when she said that to him, he'd believe her.

It was quiet again, but although it was hard it wasn't awkward, and he sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. "I have to tell you something I can't tell you."

Her eyes widened. She'd been expecting questions, accusations, admissions of pain. Not secrets. "How am I supposed to react to that?"

"Tell me I can trust you. Tell me that even if we don't…" he stopped again but she easily finished the sentence in her mind, and the fact that he considered that an option caused the first tears to pool in her eyes. "Tell me you won't tell anyone. Anyone at all, no matter what."

She shouldn't have been surprised at his lack of trust, she'd certainly done nothing to earn it, but it still hurt to hear, and a tear slipped from her eye and slid down her cheek before she wiped it away. "You don't trust me," she whispered as fact.

He looked up towards the ceiling for a second before looking back at her. "I want to. Tell me I can."

She looked over at him, meeting his eyes with her wet ones. "You can," came out as nothing more than a breath.

He quickly turned away from her face and stood up, walking out of the living room and down the hallway, and her heart sank. What if he couldn't? What if he tried, but just couldn't? If the pain she'd caused him had been too much? She shook her head, clearing it. She'd underestimated his love for her once before; she wouldn't do it again.

He walked back into the room a minute later. She could see his figure moving out of the corner of her eye, but she was too afraid to look at him. So when he held a box of Kleenex in front of her, it startled her and even more tears fell. She nodded her thanks and took a tissue from the box.

He sat down, watching her for a second with pleading eyes, but she didn't understand what he was asking. That she'd stop crying? That she'd leave? That she'd answer the questions he didn't know how to word? She had no idea. "I have a thing…" he said a minute later, pausing and running his hand through his hair. "From when I was shot. It's called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Basically, when things get stressful or hard for me, I tend to re-live the shooting."

He said it almost casually as if the delivery could change the actual message, but he might as well have punched her in the gut, the wind knocked out of her that quickly. He was… what was he saying exactly? She looked down at the tissue in her hand and closed her eyes. She'd studied PTSD briefly at UW in 'Child Psychology,' and she quickly racked her brain for memories. Trauma victims, triggers, anger, destructive behavior… she couldn't remember enough to really understand what he was saying. "Are you ok?"

"Most of the time, yes," he said, nodding and then pausing for a deep breath. She recognized it as him gearing himself up for something and waited for the proverbial 'but.' He ran his hands over his face and through his hair before looking back up at her. "But since seeing you again, I've been… I've had nightmares, trouble sleeping... I'm easily angered, easily panicked; I keep waiting for the ball to drop…" He stopped and studied her for a second, but she heard his voice anyway repeating those things to her all over again. "That's why I left. I didn't want you to have to see me like that."

She stared at him, through him really, unable to breathe. She'd seen this. This… PTSD thing had happened at her apartment. And… maybe at the Baked and Wired? She'd done that to him, was doing it to him. Forcing him to… how did he put it? Relive the shooting? She was making him relive the shooting? The most horrific thing of his life and he was reliving it right in front of her because she was selfish enough to want him back after she'd… and she hadn't even noticed? She sucked in a huge breath of air. She'd abandoned him. Abandoned him, and because of that she hadn't been there when he needed her more than ever before, and now… now being in her presence made him relive it? She couldn't… wouldn't do that to him. She had to love him more than that, even if it killed her. She stood up abruptly, shaking almost violently. "I should go."

"What?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

She couldn't look at him. She was about to leave him again, she couldn't… oh god, she wouldn't get to study his face again. To memorize it one more time. Her tears started falling harder. "You're hurt because I came back," she choked out. "I won't do that to you."

She made it on unstable legs to the coat rack by his door, fumbling with her jacket. Her hands were shaking too much to get it off, and she was just about to leave it and go when she felt his hand wrapping around her arm and turning her body towards him. "Donna, don't," he pleaded.

She had to. She couldn't look at him. She had to go; she had to put him first. For once, she had to. She couldn't hurt him again. She couldn't. "You just said…"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Please don't. I'd never hurt you, I swear it."

She stopped suddenly, her eyes snapping up to his. "I don't think..." Of course he'd never hurt her. Not in a million years. But she was hurting him. "I'd never think that, Josh," she whispered, a small, devastatingly sad smile on her face. She looked down and then up at him, a determined look on her face. She had to do this. She had to do what was best for him. "But I'm hurting you and I won't do that; not again."

"You want to keep from hurting me? Stay."

She shook her head and whispered, "I can't." Relive. He'd said relive, not remember. She couldn't do that to him.

"Admitting this to you…" he stopped, taking her other arm in his hand, holding her gently but firmly directly in front of him. "God Donna, it's the hardest thing I've ever done. Do you think I wanted to look at you and tell you that I'm…" He stopped and she wondered how he could think that she could ever see him as anything less than amazing. "I tried to keep it all inside," he said softly. "Hoping it would just go away, but it won't. So I can either tell you or lose you. I don't want to lose you."

He was pleading with her. "Josh…" she said, shaking her head.

"If you think I'm some whack-job…"

"I don't think that," she said adamantly, cutting him off.

"Then don't go," he said desperately.

She stared at him. How could she stay and hurt him? How could she do that to him? Relive… how could he want her to? How could he love her enough to willingly go through that just to be with her? But… when he asked her with those eyes and that voice and that power he had over her… when he stood in front of her and asked her to love him just the way he was, even though he saw himself as damaged and less than perfect, how could she not? A minute passed, at least, before she barely nodded and he let go of her and watched in complete silence as she went back to the couch and sat down while taking more tissues from the Kleenex box. "What do I have to do with the shooting?" she whispered, still not sure she could stay. Still not sure she could keep from hurting him. "I wasn't there."

He was still standing by the door, but he went back to his chair and spoke softly. "It's just the way I handle stress. You came back and… I'd spent four years trying to hate you for leaving me, and then there you were smiling in a Shell station like nothing had happened. And I…I told myself I had to…" He stopped, his voice wavering, and looked away from her to the wall. "Protect myself from you. But you kept showing up and talking and part of me couldn't help wanting what we had back…" He looked back to her then and whispered, "Wanting more."

"Just part of you?" she whispered back.

He stood up and walked to the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the doorway and looking at his shoes. "Part of me wanted to keep hating you. To… God this is so hard. To blame you for…" He looked back at her with a stricken face etched in pain and she hated herself for putting it there. She looked straight at him. She told herself she'd own up to this, and she would. "You broke my heart. I know you didn't know it, but it didn't matter to me. You broke my heart and I needed to hate you to protect myself from letting you do it again."

She was crying harder again as she started piecing things together. The gas station, the dry cleaners, the Baked and Wired… he'd been so… standoffish. He'd tried to hate her. He'd tried to stay away and she'd pushed and pushed and he'd finally given in. "And now?" she whispered. "Does part of you want to hate me now?"

He shook his head. "No, but part of me is still waiting for you to leave."

"Because I did before," she said as more pieces came into place. The phone call, Michael… he'd been waiting for that. Waiting for her to let him down again. And she had; she'd been so confused that she'd defended Michael instead of assuring Josh. She'd let him down and he'd relived the shooting.

"No," he said firmly. "You quit your job before. A job you weren't even being paid to do. It's not because of what you did; it's because of how I see what you did."

She put her glass and sat back, looking down into her lap. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked, turning to face her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she started sobbing again, her shoulders shaking and her voice failing. When she did speak, her words were broken and unintelligible. "Whatever I need to be sorry for to fix this."

"Are you sorry you left the campaign? Because you're better for it you know."

She put her elbows on her knees then and propped her forehead in her hands, trying to take deep breaths. He was right, she was better, stronger because of it, but she could've done all of that with him, had she just given him a chance. "I'm sorry for the way I left. After everything you did for me…"

"It hurt more than you know."

But she did know. The pain, the ache, understanding for the first time that those were two different things… the regrets and the resignation that she'd never find that kind of love again. "You won't believe this, but I do know."

He turned his head away from her. "You're right. I don't believe it."

"That's fair," she whispered. Because he didn't know the truth. And even if he did, it was still her fault; every bit of it. "And I am sorry."

He looked back at her. "You shouldn't have to be. You left your job to go back to your boyfriend. Intellectually I know that. I do. But it gets all screwed up emotionally. It feels like you left me for your boyfriend. I can tell myself over and over that you left your job, but it still feels like…"

"I left you," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Yes."

She had to tell him. She had to say it. And he'd either forgive her or he wouldn't, but he deserved to know the truth. That he was never second to anyone. Not in her eyes. Never. "It feels like that because it's true."

A split second passed before he looked at her with confusion in his eyes. "What?"

"Honesty, right?" she whispered as tears began falling again.

"Yes," he choked out.

"I didn't leave my job," she said softly. Tears started falling harder and she wiped them away with the tips of her fingers. "I left you. I just didn't do it for Michael." His eyes were wide and looking at her like she'd just ripped his heart out of his chest, and she closed hers so she wouldn't have to see him. She couldn't bear to see that look. She couldn't bear doing that to him.

He didn't say anything, just stood there staring at her with a pain in his eyes she'd never seen from him, not even the week before when he'd exploded in her apartment and told her, most likely on accident, how much she meant to him all those years ago. But she'd just taken away the only truth he'd ever known about her leaving.

"Josh," she said quietly, wiping her eyes and willing herself to stop crying.

"You said I didn't do anything wrong," he said in a gravely voice she'd never heard from him before, as if his vocal chords were gone and the sound was coming straight from the heart she'd shredded.

"You didn't," she said, standing up slowly and taking a step towards him. He flinched and took a step backwards, from the entry way into the kitchen, as if backing away from a predator, and she worried for a second that he was reliving the shooting again. But he was looking at her, and that hadn't been the case at her apartment. There, he'd seemed to go away some place. "You never did anything wrong. Please just let me explain."

He didn't reply, just continued looking at her, taking another step backwards into the kitchen as she took another towards him. She needed to be near him; she doubted she had the courage to say these words if she couldn't be at least touching him in some small way, and she wanted nothing more than to be close to him. To smell his cologne and feel the warmth from his body, to feel like they were in this together. She didn't deserve that, she knew, but it didn't stop her from needing it, and she took one more step towards him as he backed into the refrigerator. "Josh, please," she begged, tears still streaming unwanted down her face.

He didn't answer her, but when she took another tentative step towards him, he didn't move, and three steps later she stood directly in front of him. She reached out, taking his hand in hers and he didn't fight her, but didn't respond as she laced their fingers together.

"Make me understand," he whispered finally, although to her it sounded more like pleading than a request. "I need to understand."

She nodded, staring down at their joined fingers, hers gripping his hand, his limply being held by hers. She wiped her eyes with her other hand and finally she looked back up at him. "You were larger than life," she whispered. "You were amazing and smart and funny and… you could do anything." She stopped and looked up at him. "I came there with nothing and you let me help. You let me be a part of it and for the first time ever, I felt like I made a difference, because you made a tremendous difference to everyone and I made a small one to you."

He looked away from her, off to the side, and lowered his head, then whispered, "You made a huge difference to me."

She wanted to reach out and put her hand on his cheek, to lift his head so he'd look at her, but she thought he'd turn and leave if she touched him more than she already dared. "And that made me feel so special and needed. And I couldn't help it. Before I even realized it, I had…" She stopped then, desperately trying to hold the tears inside and wondering how she'd ever be able to tell him this. Even four years later and after everything he'd said, part of her still felt pathetic when she thought about it.

"What?" he asked quietly, lifting his head and looking at her after the silence stretched.

Honesty, she told herself. If she wanted him to understand, she'd have to tell him. It couldn't be any harder than what he'd told her and if he'd found the courage, she would too. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to the light on the ceiling. "I had this huge, huge crush on you. At least that's how it started. And I felt like a complete idiot because I thought you couldn't feel the same way." She stopped and pulled her eyes off the ceiling to look at him, complete shock in his eyes. "You had a girlfriend," she said quietly. "An influential, smart, educated girlfriend. I was twelve years younger than you with no college degree and no experience in politics and I was sure you saw me as a kid sister, someone you had to watch out for."

His eyes widened. "A kid sister?"

"You talked badly about Michael, you made sure the campaign paid for my food and hotel, you explained things, you argued…"

He shook his head. "I didn't see you as a kid sister."

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered before opening them and looking at him again. "I just… I looked three, four, eight years into the future and saw myself as your assistant. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't have been able to do that for years. To pretend that I didn't…" she stopped, taking a shaky breath and wiping tears off her cheek with one hand while still holding onto him with her other. "…want more. I couldn't keep watching you with her. What if it had worked out, what if you had married her? I couldn't stay there and be that close to you and not be with you. If it was that hard after a month, what would it have been like after six or seven years?" She shook her head and blinked, letting even more tears course down her cheeks. "I couldn't do it."

His free hand moved then and she watched as he brought it to her face, pausing just before touching her. It hung there in the air for a few seconds before he put it down to his side again. "So you left? Without talking to me about it? I broke up with her... three days before you... I broke up with her to be with you."

Silent tears turned into sobbing and she choked on her words as she continued. "I didn't know," she said, chest heaving and shoulders shaking badly. "Michael came to New Hampshire with flowers and promises and asked me to come back. I knew it wouldn't work; I didn't want him anymore." She kept going but could barely understand her own words between sobs and deep shaky breaths. "He couldn't… come… close to you. But I thought maybe if I got away… maybe if I went back to real life, I'd be ok, I'd get past it. So I…left."

He closed his eyes. "How long were you with him?"

She tried to take deep breaths, tried to stay calm, tried to stop crying, but she'd waited too long to say all of it, and along with the words came memories and guilt and remorse and pain. "Not quite two weeks. I was living with my parents, waiting for an opportunity to end it. It came and I did."

His hand came up then, his palm gliding over her wet cheeks to her ear, his fingers tangling softly in her hair. He pulled her head to his chest, shushing her, the steady beat of his heart calming her immediately. He held her there, his chin on top of her head, his fingers still in her hair. "You could've come back," he whispered almost a minute later.

She shook her head slightly, still crying onto his shirt. "I was trying to convince myself it was just a crush. I thought that after time, life would go back to normal and those feelings would disappear."

He took his other hand gently from hers and wrapped it around her body, pulling her even closer to him. "Did they?"

She stayed still, breathing him in while her own breathing evened out and tears stopped falling. Finally, she pulled back just enough to look at him. "No. I learned to live with them, push them to the background, but they were always there. I stayed with my parents and went back to school, but you still had such an influence on my life. It was…"

She stopped talking, looking down at the ground, and he brought a hand to her chin, tilting it up to look at him. "What?"

"It was almost like I was getting ready for that day in the Shell station. I just didn't realize it."

He furrowed his brow a bit. "I don't under…"

"I was at home one night, a few months after I left, flipping through channels. The Mets were playing the Cubs and I wondered if you were watching. It made me feel a little closer to you to think we might be doing the same thing, so I watched the game the next night too. Before I knew it, I was a Mets fan. You always said children should be our top priority and I'm a semester away from being a child advocacy lawyer. Papers I wrote, positions I took… I always looked to yours. Always wondered what you'd think, wondered if you'd agree, if you'd be proud."

"I am," he said quietly.

She smiled at him then, nodding. "I know."

"But I still wish you'd stayed. I know that's selfish, but I can't help it."

"Part of me wishes I'd stayed too." Part of her always would. It would forever be the road not taken in her life.

He closed his eyes for several seconds before opening them and looking at her. "Are you going to stay this time?"

She didn't know if he was asking in general or because she'd almost left just fifteen minutes earlier when he'd told her about his trauma disorder, but she was careful to maintain eye contact. "If you let me," she whispered deliberately.

"Then why were you talking to Michael?"

She'd been expecting that question. "It's not what you think."

"Then explain it to me," he said quietly, pulling his hand out of her hair and brushing her shoulder as he dropped it to his side.

Her nerves threatened her again, but she believed in him. He wasn't Jeff and he wasn't Michael. She'd underestimated him once, only once, and it had been a huge mistake. One she wouldn't make again. This would be fine. This was the easy part. She smiled slightly at him. "Do you mind if I…" she gestured over her shoulder. "Splash some cold water on my face first?"

"Uh…" he looked taken aback, but her face was hot and sticky and burning slightly. She needed to feel like a person again. She needed to be secure in herself while she told him this. "Sure. Go ahead."

She smiled and started for the bathroom, stopping and asking him for some more water before going inside and washing her face. The cool water felt good and she rinsed her face over and over, already feeling some of the puffiness around her eyes going down. She looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. She'd told him the truth. How she'd loved him and why she'd left, and while at the beginning he'd seemed almost frightened of her, by the end he was holding her, maybe forgiving her, and that was everything. The worst of it was over.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was sitting in the chair again and she found herself disappointed that he still needed that distance between them. But he didn't know yet. He didn't know that he'd given her the determination and confidence to ask Michael out to coffee one day over four years earlier and tell him in a calm and authoritative voice that it was time he pay her back. She walked to the couch and sat down, taking a drink ofher water before looking up at him with certainty. "Michael and I had a deal."

"A deal?" he asked in that voice of his that she loved.

She nodded and spoke with assurance. "I'd get him through residency, then he'd get me through college. That was our deal."

"Yes, I remember," he said, nodding slowly. "What does that…"

"The deal wasn't contingent on our staying together."

He seemed to be getting more confused instead of less. "What?"

She shrugged. "Of course we thought we'd still be together, but the deal didn't hinge on it."

"So…" he asked as if he was already putting the pieces together.

"Michael's paying for my college."

He stared agape at her, as if waiting for the punch line. His eyes were wide and his mouth open and with her emotions all over the place, she almost laughed. "Really?" he asked, completely floored and maybe a little impressed.

"He wasn't a fan of the idea when I brought it up, but he got the good end of the deal, so he eventually agreed to it."

He smiled then, small enough that it would've been unnoticeable to anyone else, and she smiled back, just as slightly. "How did you get him to do that?"

"Josh, I know you've spent four years painting him a certain way," she said quietly, knowing that Josh's opinion of him was her fault. "But he's not a complete bastard. I paid for everything when we were together. Rent, utilities, groceries, car repairs… all of it. I asked him to pay only my tuition and he agreed. I wasn't for my undergrad, but I'm on a partial scholarship now, so that makes it even easier on him."

He seemed almost in awe of her and her fears were slipping away. "And that's what the call was about?"

"His fiancé's not the happiest about our agreement. Since next semester's my last, he wanted to know if I'd registered and gotten the bill so he could pay it and be done with it."

He nodded. "I can see where she's coming from."

His words were like a punch in the gut, knocking the wind out of her. She looked down into her glass, suddenly unsure. "Please don't," she whispered. Jeff was one thing, but she couldn't take it if he saw her that way. Of all people, not him.

"Don't what?"

"Don't be…" She looked up at him. "I'm not sponging off my ex. I'm not some weak girl who has to have someone else pay her way. This was our deal and he's getting the far better end of it. Please don't act like…" She looked over at the wall and clenched her jaw. She wouldn't cry about this. Not this. "Like I slept with him for tuition," she whispered.

"I didn't mean…" He stopped talking and walked up to her, kneeling in front of her so their faces were level. There were tears in her eyes again and she wouldn't look at him like that so she kept her face turned away. She would apologize for everything but this. This, she wouldn't feel guilty about. "That's not what I meant. I would never, never think that about you."

She wanted to believe that, needed to, but he'd sounded… She closed her eyes briefly, holding back tears, then opened them again and continued looking at the wall. "Then what did you mean?" she whispered.

He reached out took her hands in his own. It made her feel safe again and she wanted to believe she was. "It was a stupid thing to say and I'm sorry," he said softly, squeezing her hands. "I just meant that if you and I were dating and you were paying his tuition, I wouldn't care for it either."

"What if you and I were dating… and he was paying mine?"

He paused before answering. "Honesty, right?" She nodded, hoping against hope that he could understand her need to demand that Michael repay her. It wasn't about the money, at least not anymore. She could pay it. She'd have to scrimp, but she could pay her tuition without taking out student loans. That wasn't the point. The point was standing up for herself, and she needed him to see that.

"Honestly, I'd have mixed feelings. I think I'd be glad there was only one check to go." He smiled at her, not a dimpled smile, but a smile none the less, and she could tell that he did understand. That he didn't like it, but that he understood it, and that was enough for her. She met his eyes and nodded before smiling widely.

"He paid it online Friday."

"Even better," he said, the beginnings of his dimples starting to show.

She leaned into him then, resting her forehead against his, both of them smiling, and just sat like that for a moment. He sighed and she did as well, and then she asked him, because she couldn't wait another second. "Are we?"

"Are we what?" he whispered back.

"Dating?"

He pulled back and kissed her forehead. "I have this PTSD thing," he said quietly.

She sat up and looked at him. He'd told her about the PTSD so he wouldn't lose her, he'd said so himself. But now he was using it to give her a way out, and she tried not to let it hurt that he thought that would matter to her. She took a breath, letting it go. She still had trust to earn from him. "I don't care," she said, looking directly at him. "I mean… I do care, but… I don't see it as a deterrent to dating you."

He paused and then nodded. "I have a pretty ugly scar on my chest you're probably going to have see sooner or later."

She didn't really know what he was talking about for a second, and then her eyes widened and she stared at him. He was trying to make light of it? Of a surgery that saved his life? It was a defense mechanism, she was sure, and she saw through it like glass. "You don't know how…" Tears pooled in her eyes again and she pulled one of her hands from his and laid it on his chest, shaking her head. "You're not allowed to make fun of that from now on, ok?" she whispered in a shaky voice.

He nodded, gripping her hand with one of his, letting both of them rest there over his heart. They sat there silently, their fingers locked, and she could feel his heart beating under her hand, strong and steady. A few more tears escaped her eyes and she let them slide down her cheek uninterrupted.

It was a few minutes before he moved his hand to her neck and pulled her close to kiss her, and it was different from every other kiss they'd shared. There would be more to discuss, moments she'd have to tell him about, things about him she'd have to learn, but they were sharing a kiss laced with forgiveness and love, and she knew everything was going to be ok.

It stayed soft like that for several moments as they communicated, and then he applied more pressure and they both deepened it, one of her arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled her closer and groaned into her mouth. And then they were picking up where they'd left off in her kitchen.

She pulled back a few minutes later, taking his face in her hands and raining kisses on his cheek, his forehead, his nose and finally his lips again before sitting up straighter and looking at him with a smile. Her face was glowing, she was sure of it. Every emotion she felt written there like a book. Happiness, excitement, anticipation, love… it looked a lot like his, she guessed.

"You sure?" he asked her.

Her smile widened even more, if that was even possible. "Positive, you?"

He pulled her close to him again, his fingers grazing over her lips, her cheekbone, her jaw. "For the last four years you've been my past," he whispered. "I need you to be my future."