"...the dream does not repeat the waking material, but changes it, combines it, and weaves it into an ongoing story...and what happens in the setting is invariably different from what happened in waking life..."

-Ernest Hartmann, MD

She looked up and took in a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the exposed ductwork and red brick walls of his downtown loft. When that no longer held her attention, she tried to get lost in the sounds of the Cody Chesnutt CD playing on his stereo. She liked the music well enough, but then his sophomoric, sexist lyrics would jar her right out of it. Her feet were tapping and fidgeting against the bottom rung of the stool she sat on, and she looked down for at least the tenth time in five minutes, checking to make sure her long braids were still draped over her bare breasts. Her high was definitely wearing off.

"Are you almost finished?"

She watched him grin without looking up from his drafting table. He was slow to answer, shading with a charcoal stick in one hand then taking a drag off the joint in the other first.

"Almost."

Her eyes narrowed on him, his chiseled face and his equally chiseled chest and arms on full display as he sat there in just a pair of grey sweatpants. He was insanely hot, the hottest man she had ever laid eyes or hands upon without question. He spoke in a low, smooth tone with an unhurried rate to match. She still didn't know him well enough to say whether it was the weed or just his naturally laid-back personality, but she was starting to think it was the latter.

"Let me see it," she demanded impatiently.

"Michonne." He shook his head and chuckled at her without looking up from his drawing.

"Well, you should have this committed to memory already."

And finally he looked up with a glint in his eye. "Oh, I have."

She rolled her eyes, though she was more than flattered and smiling on the inside, then slid off the stool and marched across the cold, hardwood floors in nothing but her panties. She plucked the joint out of his hand, brought it to her lips, and inhaled deeply in an effort to bring her back to the state that made her think this was a good idea to begin with. She looked over his shoulder to see her form on paper and it honestly took her breath away. It was beautiful, and certainly not what she saw when she looked in the mirror, but if this was the way he saw her, she was in trouble...

"OK," she said dryly. "You're legit."

He began to laugh softly again, looking at her like she was from a foreign land, and every little thing she said and did was strange and amusing to him.

"If you really thought I was full of it, why'd you come over in the first place?"

"Just needed to take a study break," she shrugged.

"You're too much," he said with a grin.

She took another hit then passed then passed it back to him and reached for his white t-shirt that was strewn across the arm of the couch behind him.

"Not yet."

She turned to see him watching her from behind and smiled shyly then began to walk toward him. He turned in his chair to face her then put one arm around her waist to draw her closer. With the other, he gently brushed her hair behind one shoulder and then the other and took a long look at her uncovered body before meeting her eyes.

"MIchonne," he breathed out softly, "you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life."

She smiled shyly then stepped into his arms, and he lifted her off the ground and carried her into his bedroom.

She felt his hand slide over her waist and settle on the round swell of her belly as he snuggled up behind her in their bed and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, making her smile as she placed her hand on top of his.

"We're having a baby."

"Mmm, I'm well aware." With seven months of swollen everything and morning sickness, how could she forget?

"I'm having a baby with that beautiful, smart-mouthed law student that walked into my bar one night and had the nerve to order a Midori sour with a straight face…"

"Mmm…" She couldn't help but smile at her unsophisticated drink choices of her early twenties and the memory of that night, one of her first in Atlanta after moving down for law school. "And I'm having a baby with the hot artist-slash-bartender I went home with that very same night after he talked me into at least drinking whiskey sours instead…"

"I like that that's how you remember it. Not the architecture student who tended bar part time to pay the bills," he teased.

"You had that right-brained vibe that appealed to my left-brained self."

"Baby, I got that right and left brain vibe," he bragged. "As much as you'd like to think, you would not make it with a full on creative type. It would drive you crazy."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that," she admitted. "It's a good thing I found you then…"

"A very good thing," he agreed. He pressed his lips against her cheek. "For both you and me."

She sighed contentedly. Wrapped up in the ivory sheets in the master bedroom of their renovated Victorian in Inman Park, in the arms of the man she loved, with their unexpected, but most welcome bundle of joy due in a few weeks. It was almost unfathomable to think of how two strangers could come together and build such a beautiful life out of nothing.

"We've come such a long way," she mused. "And grown so much together..."

"Just imagine what's going to happen when the little one arrives."

"I'm not even sure I can...baby?"

"Yeah?"

"I feel like it's going to be weird for us to call each other that when we have an actual baby in the house."

He let out a soft laugh against her skin. "Probably so. We'll come up with something else."

"It's mommy."

She could hear him "whispering" loudly as she headed down the hallway, her heels clacking against the hardwood floor, and alerting them to her imminent interruption to whatever it was they were scheming about.

When she arrived in the kitchen, she found her son sitting on the counter, hurriedly hiding his hands behind his back while his father casually leaned against the counter next to him.

"Oh hey, Love," Mike greeted.

"What are you two doing?" she asked suspiciously as she joined them.

"Finishing up breakfast," Mike informed her, gesturing to the two plates with only a few crumbs left on them.

He looked down at his son who was looking back with wide eyes then nodded back in exaggerated agreement. She could only shake her head as she watched the two of them.

"Oh really?"

They looked at each other then back at her and nodded, agreeing that this was their story and they were sticking to it. She bit down on her lower lip and focused on her son, all dressed and ready for school in a red long sleeve t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and his little Chuck's with his hands still conspicuously hidden behind his back.

"What do you have behind your back there?" she asked.

"Nothing," he insisted, though his eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"I don't believe you."

He made the "who me?" face in response; eyebrows arched, eyes wide, and mouth open and round. And she gave him the "yeah you" face in return, lips pursed, brows slightly furrowed, and head tilted. They had this little routine down pat. She glanced up at Mike who winked back at her. That was their thing, or maybe it was every parents' thing, but they were constantly looking to catch each other's eye with every adorable or horrible thing their son did.

"Andre…" she said slowly.

"I'm not Andre!"

"Well, who are you then?"

His face scrunched and his hands appeared to frame it with fingers waggling.

"I'm the peanut butter monster!"

And sure enough he was with big globs of sticky brown peanut butter on the tips of his fingers. It was something Mike had done to him once before, so now he loved to dip them into the divets of his peanut butter smeared waffles and play this little game whenever he had the chance. So she played along...

"Oh no!" She brought her hands to her cheeks, pretending to be terrified.

"Rraw!" he growled as he leaned closer to her

"I'm gonna get you monster!"

She reached out and grabbed his little wrists in her hands and very slowly brought her mouth toward his fingers.

"No!" he protested.

"Oh yes!" she insisted as she came closer and closer.

"No!" He was squealing and squirming, trying to get out of his mother's grasp. He threw his head back and searched for his father. "Daddy! Help!"

"I can't," Mike said, throwing up his hands in surrender while he watched the two of them with a smile. "The mommy monster is too powerful to resist."

Michonne smiled widely as she nipped at his little right pinkie finger, taking off the peanut butter cap.

"Num num num num," she murmured as she did the same to the next finger and the next and the next...

"Mommy!" he gasped between giggles."It's me! It's Andre!"

She looked up as if she was breaking out of a trance. "It is?"

"It is," he nodded.

"Oh thank goodness!"

She scooped him up into her arms and pressed a kiss on his light brown curls as she settled him on her hip. She looked up to see Mike watching them adoringly, as if he hadn't witnessed some variation on this game a million times before.

"You want one before I put them away?" he offered as he picked up the box of organic frozen waffles from the counter.

"I'm good I'll just grab an apple with my coffee on my way into work."

She bounced Andre on her hip trying to make the most of her time with him before work as she moved around the kitchen and living room trying to get her purse and things in order for work. Once she had successfully packed her bag, she looked up to find Mike leaning against the refrigerator with his arms folded across his chest just watching her with adoration. She tilted her head curiously as she walked into the kitchen.

"You look pretty, Love," he explained softly.

She looked down at her tailored black suit and brightly colored floral print silk blouse, neither of which were new to him, then ran her hand over the side the braided updo she had thrown together and smiled demurely. Maybe that was it she thought.

"Doesn't mommy look pretty?" he asked his son.

"Yes," he agreed, looking up at her just as adoringly with his big brown eyes.

"Thank you." She pressed a kiss atop Andre's head then reached out and tugged on the collar of Mike's shirt. "You sure you're going to have time to get home to change after work?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

She looked him up and down; tan work boots, dark denim jeans, and hunter green plaid shirt. Of course it was all still designer, but she was missing his smart suits as of late.

"You sure?" she pressed.

"If not, I'll just come straight to your office party," he said obviously as he reached behind her to grab his briefcase off the counter.

"Not like that you won't."

"I look good," he defended.

"You been hanging out in the country too long," she scoffed.

"It's not the country." He stepped in closer to her and grinned as he placed his free hand on her hip. "It's the suburbs."

"The 'burbs of the 'burbs…"

He smiled at her sharp wit just as he always had from the very first night they met.

"Hey, Dr. Greene is one of my biggest clients."

"I know."

"I just have to meet with a few vendors out at the work site this morning then I'm doing a walk through with The Doc around 2:00, so I should be leaving there no later than 3:00 which means I'll have plenty of time to come home and get ready according to your standards," he finished pointedly.

"OK…"

He squeezed her hip and leaned in to give her a kiss then emerged smiling.

"OK," he answered simply.

She began to laugh under her breath and looked down, shaking her head at him.

"Mike…"

"You really don't like this?" he asked, turning away from her to give himself a once over in the the hall mirror.

"Uh uh," she confirmed with a shake of her head.

"Because I feel kinda sexy in it…" And now he was making eyes at himself in the mirror as he circled his hips with a little dance.

"Oh my god," she breathed out as she began to laugh. She looked down at her son who was smiling at his father's clowning. "What is wrong with your father?"

"Nothing," Mike answered quickly. "Absolutely nothing." He turned and pointed at his son. "I love you, little man."

Andre smiled and excitedly pointed back from her arms. "I love you, daddy."

"You be good at school today."

"I will."

Mike shifted his focus to her, that adoring look in his eyes again.

"I love you."

"Love you too," she answered back, smiling as she watched him turn and start for the door, her eyes drawn to that ass that was cute regardless in jeans, slacks, or nothing at all. "...Sexy."

He looked over his shoulder with surprise, then gave her a sexy smile, and reprised his dance as he strutted out the day leaving her in stitches.

"Your father is not right, Peanut," she sighed as she wiped the corner of her eye with her finger. "He is so not right..."

"Is Mike coming tonight?"

"Of course."

"Good, because he and I need to have a talk."

She dropped a green tea bag into the mug of hot water she was holding then turned to face her friend and arched a brow with intrigue. She settled in across the breakroom table from the petite brunette who was leaned back in the white bucket chair with her legs crossed, peeling the bright orange skin off of a tangerine with her long, cotton candy pink nails.

"He said there were some good guys on his construction crew for this project," she explained. "He was supposed to set me up."

"And when did he tell you this, Rosita?" she asked, less skeptical of her friend than of her significant other.

"Andre's birthday party last weekend."

She took a sip of the hot tea and shook her head. "Well, he told Sasha the same thing apparently...hopefully he has a few in mind," she muttered.

"Whatever," Rosita shrugged. "Mike's my boy. He'll come through."

Her phone began to buzz and vibrate on the table between them, lighting up with Mike's name and a picture of the two of them posing on the beach in Zanzibar. She picked it up and flashed the screen at Rosita.

"Speak of the devil," she said as she swiped to answer and placed it against her ear.

"I know you're not calling to tell me you're running late," she answered.

"No, he's calling to tell you he's bringing a date for me tonight!" Rosita shouted from across the table. The two women met eyes and laughed among themselves.

Michonne?

Her smile faded at the sound of the unfamiliar voice on the other end. "Yes?"

This is Hershel. Dr. Greene.

"Yes. Hi." She looked at Rosita who was still leaning across the table, smiling while she tried to listen in on what her buddy, Mike, had to say. She lifted a finger, wordlessly excusing herself for a second, as she rose from the chair and walked across the breakroom. "Is everything OK?"

The was a long pause at the end of the line.

"Hershel, is something wrong?"

I'm afraid so, dear. Mike collapsed at the site today…

Her mouth fell open and her mind began to race, trying to imagine what this meant. Did he trip? Fall from a ladder? Faint?

...he just went unconscious…

She braced her hand against the white wall in front of her.

...ambulance picked him up…

Her heart sank.

...on his way to Harrison Memorial Hospital.

Her hand fell away from her face and down to her side without actually ending the call.

"Michonne?"

She could hear Rosita's voice in her ear and feel her grip on her shoulder, her nails poking her skin through her suit jacket.

"I have to go," she mumbled, as it was all she could manage.

She pushed away from the wall and began to walk toward the door.

"Michonne!"

That was the last thing she heard as she walked through the rows of cubicles on the main floor and into her office. She pulled her purse out of her bottom desk drawer and fled for the exit. All sights and sounds around her had been muted and dimmed because her brain was all consumed with getting to him. If she could defy the physical constraints of time and distance she would, simply shut her eyes or snap her fingers and just be there.

She made it to the elevator bank and pressed the button once, twice, three times in a desperate attempt to make it come faster. She stood there for what felt like forever until the doors opened to a crowded elevator full of strangers with their cell phones and coffee chatting about...she couldn't say, she just knew it didn't matter. With the lobby button already pressed, she moved to the side and shut her eyes.

Every few seconds the elevator would lunge to a stop, the bell would ding, the doors would open, and a few more people would get on, shoving her further back and making her feel even more trapped and helpless than she already did. She closed her eyes and just tried to continue breathing, thinking of where her parking space was and visualizing her escape from the city.

She finally found herself in her car, past the gates of the parking garage, and accelerating on the on-ramp of I-20, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal with even more force upon the sight of clear roads ahead. She glanced down at her phone, barking directions at her every few minutes, and wondered whether she should call to check on him. No. It didn't matter. Whether he was fine or not didn't make a difference if she wasn't there. Beside, if he was fine, then Dr. Greene would have said so. No. She just needed to be there and not here.

Raised asphalt highway eventually turned into a paved two lane road with nothing but faded yellow fields as far as the eye could see on either side. Each mile marker felt like it was farther than the last, and the dearth of landmarks on the side of the road left her wondering if she was making any progress at all. She glanced down at her phone which was assuring her that there that was indeed a destination just a mile down the road. She pressed down harder on the gas pedal and let her car shift so that it was running directly over the faded double yellow lines that ran down the middle. It was like she was tempting the world to show her some sign of life out here.

Eventually it presented itself, a white figure in the distance. The two story brick structure with a surrounding parking lot sitting out in the middle of nowhere was almost like an oasis. She pulled in to the parking lot, comforted by the presence of other cars around her and ran up to the double doors marked by a sign that read EMERGENCY in red block letters. The doors opened automatically and and she found her way to the nurses station situated just off to the side. The young, doe-eyed blonde sitting behind it stopped talking to the security officer who was leaned against the front of her desk, and they both just looked at her expectantly with blank, almost eerily serene expressions, that seemed out of place in this setting.

"I'm looking for Michael Kayne." Her voice hitched with emotion as his name passed her lips.

"With a C or a K?" the blonde asked.

"K."

She repeated the letter under her breath as she typed the name on her keyboard with no real sense of urgency. The slow clacking of keys finally stopped, and she looked up.

"He's in the ICU." She gave a weak smile and there was a slight, almost self-conscious giggle that accompanied her answer, a sign that she was far too young and naive to be delivering such news with the appropriate emotion.

She braced her hands against the edge of the desk as she felt her stance waver then swallowed hard as she stared into the wide blue eyes that were staring back at her.

"And where is that?" she asked quietly.

"Take the elevator to the second floor," the security guard chimed in with his chipper, thick southern accent, "then left, then right, and through the double doors."

"Second floor, left, right, and through the double doors," she repeated.

"You got it!" he exclaimed with a wide smile.

Again, she found his affect odd given her situation. She quietly nodded her thanks then walked over to the elevator and pressed the up button. As she waited, she looked back over her shoulder to see the two leaned in close, laughing and smiling over something, probably whatever she had interrupted when she came in.

She looked back at the elevator which still hadn't arrived and felt the agitation setting in again. She looked behind her to see a stairwell and moved toward the door, choosing to take matters into her own hands. She ran up the two flights of stairs and reached the door. A sign read "Second Floor, No Re-Entry." She pushed through and came out into an empty hallway, then turned left and right as instructed.

She found herself at the end of a long hallway with two double doors at the end just as she had been told and began to walk forward. The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered overhead, casting a glare off the white walls and terrazzo floors. It was lined doors painted a pale, institutional green. All were closed, and the wire-mesh windows were all backed with a piece of cardboard obscuring her view inside.

She wanted to run, to get to those double doors faster, but it was as if she had forgotten how to use her legs. She seemed unable to coordinate her gait, bending one knee to lift one foot off the ground as she pushed off with the other. She couldn't make her feet do what she wanted, so she just walked, as fast as her feet could take her, until she came upon the double doors. She pushed at the metal bars running across the middle and was met with resistance. She took a step back then then pushed again with the same results.

She wrapped her fingers around the metal, wondering if it was perhaps just jammed, and she shook her hardest but nothing happened. Hot tears began to prick her eyes, and she turned and leaned against the door, looking upward for some kind of intervention. Once she opened her eyes, the tears began to fall and she reared back and pounded her fists against the door out of frustration. She felt out of her mind and out of her body.

"Fuck," she yelled through tears. "Fuck, fuck fuck."

"Ma'am?"

She looked ahead to see a woman standing at the end of the hall. She was dressed head to toe in white scrubs and sneakers with a white styrofoam container in her hand.

"Are you OK?" she asked in her gentle southern accent.

She straightened up and wiped her eyes as she stared at the vision at the end of the hall.

"I'm just trying to find the ICU," she said quietly.

"It's the other way," the woman said as she stretched out her arm. "Come with me. I'm on my way over there."

She cautiously walked down the hall, watching the woman watch her closely as she did. She could only imagine how crazy she must have looked to someone who didn't know her or know what she was going through.

"I'm trying to find my boyfriend," she explained as she came closer.

The woman nodded sympathetically. "What's his name?" she asked.

"Michael Kayne."

"Are you Michonne?"

She stopped just shy of the woman's outstretched arm and nodded.

"He's my patient," she explained, "I saw your name listed as his emergency contact in his chart."

She looked down at the small silver name tag that hung over her right breast pocket. M. Rhee, RN. She looked back up at the nurse's face to see that she was still regarding her with caution and concern. The nurse reached out again and placed her hand on her back.

"I'm Maggie," she said softly. She patted her back and began to guide her down the hall. "Let's get you to your boyfriend."

She let out a deep breath and closed her eyes. She didn't know this woman, but there was something comforting about her, and she ultimately trusted her more than herself right now. She allowed her to guide her down the hall as she tried to collect herself, to ready herself to leave behind the fear of the unknown and prepare to deal with the fear of the known.

They came to a stop in front of a closed green door and she purposely averted her eyes away from the small window.

"What happened to him?" she asked.

"I'll page the doctor to come down right away and she can explain everything," Maggie said.

She opened her eyes and looked at Maggie, pleading for her to break protocol in the name of compassion. Maggie bowed her head and took in a deep breath then met her eyes again.

"He had a heart attack," she explained with regret. "They were able to clear most of the blockage, but he's in cardiogenic shock."

She nodded absently. The sound of Nurse Maggie's voice and the environment around her all started to blur into senselessness around her. She placed her hand on the cool metal door, taking a moment to steady herself, then pushed.

Cool air rushed into her lungs and swelled in her chest, leaving her breathless and gasping for more air until it dissipated into her lungs.

"Michonne?"

She tilted her chin downward to see Rick looking up at her with concern.

"Michonne?" he repeated, his voice thick with sleep. "You OK?"

She began nod slowly before she truly knew the answer to that question. She looked down to see that her hand was firmly planted on his warm chest and as she sat up in bed, then she looked around and recognized the walls of their bedroom in Alexandria allowing her breathing and heart rate to slow. She nodded more surely now.

"Yeah," she breathed out.

She lowered herself back into his arms and laid her head on his chest, matching his breathing with her own as she tried to settle down.

"Bad dream?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He tightened his arm around her and drew her in closely, giving her space and support all at once. Though the she was still unsettled and left with a sense of deep sadness from her dream, she was able to find some comfort there in his arms. She laid there for a long time with her eyes open, trying with all her might to remember and replay the good parts in her mind, to make her forget the bad ones, and hopefully inspire more of their kind once she fell back to sleep tonight…

AN: Hey! Thank you all for your warm response to the first chapter! I feel so lucky to have such a supportive and encouraging group of readers, some of whom have been with me since day 1! You make writing fun for me.

I honestly don't have a clue what your expectations were, so I'm interested in hearing your thoughts after chapter 1. There will be some shifts in time and POV in this story, but I think it will be fairly obvious. If it's not, let me know and I'll mark them more clearly. Thanks again for reading!