The keys clattered into the glass bowl on the table near the door. Mia sighed heavily, tossing her coat and purse onto the black leather couch. She walked into the kitchen, dumping the remains of her cold latte into the trash as she went through their mail.

Diego A. Armando
8514 E 412 N Apt 383
Los Angeles, CA 90003-4535

"He's not here anymore for you to bill," she frowned, flinging the unopened letter aside.

She flipped through the rest of the mail quickly, sorting billing statements from TV guides and loud colorful advertisements. Finding nothing else of consequence in the pile, she stuffed the remaining paper items into the almost full trashcan and trudged out of the kitchen towards her bedroom.

Mia cursed as she stubbed her toe on Diego's gym bag at the corner of the hallway. It had been forgotten in the shadow of the book shelf since its owner had slipped into a coma almost two months before.

The black duffel bag crumpled into the wall with a canvas sigh, revealing its cargo through the opened top pouch. An inflated basketball, Nike tennis shoes, an old navy blue hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of gray basketball shorts stared up at her hopefully from the dark innards of the pocket. This hadn't been the first time she'd tripped over the standby reminder of her lover's presence, but she just couldn't bring herself to move it.

Mia flinched as she remembered how Diego used to get up early every morning to run, how he'd meet his friends at the gym for a round of basketball before she'd even rolled out of bed. He'd return all smiles, his hair still wet from showering, to wake her with a soft kiss and a freshly brewed cup of coffee from the nearby café.

She could almost feel his lips on hers, his face still cold from being outside. He would curl up against her waking body, his hand stroking the skin along her cheek and arm. The remembered smell of his soft cologne against the darker shade of coffee woke the tears that lingered behind her eyes—his presence was still too fresh in her mind.

She zipped the bag hastily closed, rising suddenly to her feet to shake off the feeling of her grief. This accomplished nothing, however, but to succeed in making her nauseous. Her hands clenched at her sides as she forced down the urge to vomit. When had she last eaten? She couldn't remember and she didn't care.

Mrs. Grossberg—as she often did since the accident—had brought over lasagna two nights ago, but it still sat cold and untouched in her fridge. Food was unappealing to Mia at the moment and it showed. Her cheekbones stuck out awkwardly below her eyes, two stark peaks of gray against the pale white of her skin. Her ribcage poked out at the sides of her dress, but she hid this beneath a large wool pea coat when in public. To her shame, even her breasts had shrunken considerably under the unexpected strain of living alone.

Mia exhaled deeply as she crawled into her unmade bed. Unfriendly blue light bled in from the street, exaggerating the depth of every object in the room. She pinched her eyes closed as she shivered against the chilly maroon sheets. Drawing her knees to her chest to conserve warmth, she pressed her face into her pillow, attempting to focus on nothing.

All she wanted to do was forget—and sleep was the only way to escape the pain of her predicament, temporary though it may be.

She had been by his bedside every day since the poisoning, trying everything she could think of to coax Diego back from the abyss of sleep, even going so far as to have his favorite coffee fed to him via an intravenous tube. Her efforts, however, were all in vain. His brainwaves showed minimal activity—there was little hope of him returning to the surface of consciousness. However, Mia was not one to give up easily and stayed by his side consistently, only leaving for brief rounds of sleep and to sate her daily needs. Right now was the only time she allowed herself to forget. She vowed never to let Diego become just a memory—love was devotion, even at times when the odds were uneven.

As her breathing relaxed, Mia fell into a shallow sleep, her hand tightly gripping a corner of the sheet. She did not dream—as usual—but dove beneath her suffering into sea of nothingness where a frail sense of peace awaited her.

"Anything new on his condition?" Mia questioned, the dark circles slightly abated beneath her honey brown eyes.

The nurse shook her head slowly, her mouth set in a grim line.

"No ma'am; I'll let you know as soon as we have any new information. We just did another brain scan this morning with no sign of improvement."

"Thank you," she sighed, turning toward the direction of Diego's room.

"Miss Fey," the nurse interjected, "those who are comatose are often stirred into consciousness by their loved ones. I'd like to encourage you to keep trying—it's very likely that he'll wake up soon. If you can think of anything that might bring him back, please, try it. Remember, the staff and I are at your disposal. We'll do anything we can to help your cause."

"If I could think of anything else, I would have done it by now. That doesn't mean I'm giving up though. Diego's still in there somewhere, I just know it."

Mia hollowly left, allowing her legs to propel her forward down the bright, clean hallway. The fluorescent lights burned her eyes against the stark white of the walls and tile. Everything smelled like disinfectant and medical supplies. A few precisely placed watercolors hung on either side of the hall, attempting to add color to an otherwise colorless scene. Mia inwardly smiled at the irony of this, as it was hardly a soothing ruse. Nurses in scrubs of varying hue bustled up and down the hall, scribbling down notes on paper stacked clipboards as they checked in on various patients.

Mia peered into some of the rooms as she passed, observing the more active admitted eating breakfast on small platters or watching TV from their beds. Some rooms were empty of inhabitants. Others were occupied by sleeping patients, their electrocardiograms blipping to the steady cadence of their hearts.

"548, 550, 552..." Mia thought silently, marking time by the doors she passed.

"554."

Beneath the bold black numbers was handwritten in small print, "Diego Alexander Armando, Coma".

She stopped, taking in a deep breath as she pushed open the slightly ajar door into Diego's room.

He lay peacefully in his bed, dark skinned arms perfectly slack at his sides. A feeding tube snaked along his forearm, ending abruptly where it embedded at the crook of his elbow. His chest evenly rose and fell, the machines marking each heartbeat with a quiet bleep as if to offer their soft vocalized account to his continued existence.

The room was relatively bare and quiet besides the constant drone of active machinery. A droopy vase of flowers—testament to the Grossbergs—adorned the bedside table. It added some measure of cheer to the room before the blossoms had wilted, white peony and forget-me-not petals littering the table like second-hand confetti. Linen curtains shrouded Diego from view of another bed situated near the sunlit window. Wires, tubes, switches, and buttons adorned most of Diego's partition like gaudy synthetic jewelry. Mia wondered what the purpose of each one was, as she had shared their company for months, but hadn't cared enough to ask.

The young attorney eased herself into a cream-colored chair at Diego's bedside. Her face relaxed into silent empathy as her fingertips painted an invisible line over her lover's skin. She leaned against the stainless steel guard, gingerly weaving her fingers between his own.

"It's me, I'm back. Sorry I had to leave. They only let me sleep in here for the first couple of weeks. Now I have to go home every night. I know you probably have noticed I haven't been by much. The Grossbergs made me promise I'd stop hanging around watching you sleep—though you are cute when you sleep."

Mia smiled, pausing as though awaiting a response. She softly smoothed back his graying brown hair.

At first, the discoloration had worried her, but the doctors said it was only a sign of severe physical trauma. She thought Diego would like it. He would think it made him more distinguished. But even if he woke up, he wouldn't be able to see it.

A trend of lessened responsiveness to segments of Diego's nervous system had been noted over the past month. They had all hopelessly watched as he lost feeling in sporadic patches throughout his body. Along with this, his vision had deteriorated significantly. Though the poison had been completely extricated from his system, its effects lingered on.

Pushing aside the past, Mia tried to brighten her mood.

"I miss you. I hope you can hear me right now. You know, the apartment gets pretty lonely without you. Your junk is still all over the house where you left it. And don't think you're off the hook because of this coma business, because as soon as you're awake again, you're cleaning it up," she chuckled, her merriment trailing into silence. Sighing heavily, she cradled her hands in her lap, absently picking at an uneven nail.

"Listen, Diego…I've been meaning to bring this up, but I just haven't had the courage to."

She swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

"I know…about the ring. They found it on the floor near where you lost consciousness. Somebody saw you drop it and gave it over to the police. Since it wasn't officially evidence, well…they gave it to me. Mr. and Mrs. Grossberg explained your plans to me afterward. I know you didn't want me to find out this way, but there's a delicate matter we have to approach, Diego—your living will."

"You have no remaining immediate family or next of kin to support your hospital bills. And if you don't wake up soon, they're talking about finding someone in your extended family to help make the decision of whether or not to keep you alive."

Mia fiddled with her magatama, her eyes darting to the side.

"I wanted to tell you in person that I've made my mind up. I officially say 'yes' to your proposal. Since I can hardly bear the thought of a complete stranger deciding whether or not you live or die and I can't legally take responsibility for your expenses, I've decided…well…I…Diego…I'm going to marry you as soon as possible, if you'll have me."

"It's already settled; Mr. Grossberg told me you'd given him your half of the paperwork for safekeeping. Since it's already been notarized, all I have to do is fill out my half and send the two copies in. I know it isn't a wedding," she paused, her eyes filling with tears, "but it's good enough for me. I love you, Diego, and I want you to live so that we can have a real wedding someday. I want everybody we cherish to be there; I'm sure it will be beautiful.

"We'll even save your favorite part for last," she laughed through her tears, "I promise we'll consummate our marriage as soon as you wake up. But as far as documentation goes, we'll be fully married on paperwork. It's enough to keep you alive until you wake up. That's all that matters."

She grasped his hand tightly, kissing his knuckles. Expecting happiness, Mia was surprised to find she felt vastly empty. Only loneliness swept the cavity of her heart in an unquenchable wind.

She suddenly felt momentously overwhelmed. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She hated herself for ruining his moment—their moment. She felt like weeping and wailing, but couldn't manage either. She was completely apathetic, incapable of expressing her feelings.

"Diego…" she whispered. "I need you to answer me. Am I making the right choice? I want to help you, but is this the way…? Tell me. Please. I need your guidance."

Silence.

"Diego, wake up. Please. Wake up."

The monitors stirred persistently in the background. There were murmurs of conversation in the hallway. A breeze touched a wisp of Diego's hair as a nurse brisked by, but the man slept on.

Mia's shoulders shook in desperation. She felt her chest tightening as panic overwhelmed her. This was real. He wasn't coming back.

"Goddamn it, I need you! Please! Diego, Diego…Diego…" she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Wake up…wake up…wake up…"

Her breathing spasmodic, she clawed at her bare wrists, trying to release her agony. Angry pink scratches swelled and bled as she shredded her own skin. She was encapsulated in a whirlwind of fear, stifling her, trying to push her past sanity into something foreign—more primal. Mia had finally reached her wit's end; and she was terrified.

Diego's body tensed suddenly. She noticed the unexpected movement and it startled her. Lifting her tear-streaked face, she took back an iota of control.

"Die…go…"

His eyes flew open, bloodshot and clouded, trained on her with otherworldly intensity. She met his gaze, dumbfounded and frightened. The muscles in his jaw clenched and strained, his breaths coming in ragged gusts. It seemed he was struggling for wakefulness, locked in battle against the tyrannical rule of sleep. He blinked several times, the bleeping of his heart monitor rising to match his pulse.

"Oh my God—I need a doctor! Somebody get in here," Mia screamed. She hovered helplessly over him as she stroked his face with her fingers, wiping away the cold sweat accumulating on his forehead.

"Stay with me, don't leave…we need you, I need you. Don't go again, don't go…"

Three panicked nurses swarmed the room, darting into action.

"Has he regained consciousness?" Mia pressed.

"We need to try some basic tests to see before we're sure. If you'll please step outside, Ms. Fey, we'll let you know how everything goes."

"I understand you need your space, but I have to stay with him. You don't understand."

"Ms. Fey, this isn't negotiable. If you don't leave the room immediately, we'll be forced to have you removed."

"But…"

The nurse in charge, an older African American woman in pink scrubs, gave Mia a withering look that cut her words short.

Mia's shoulders sagged as she realized she couldn't reason with the hospital workers. Shouldering her bag, she moved quietly into the hallway.

As they closed the door behind her, she overheard a nurse ask,"Mr. Armando, if you can understand me, I need you to wiggle your fingers..."

She scoffed angrily. Like he'd listen to them after they'd kicked her out. She hoped they were successful in their queries, but was annoyed that she'd been bullied into submission. If Diego really was awake, she was sure there would be hell to pay later—if not from her, from him.

"I'm an unwelcome distraction. I'd just get in their way," Mia reasoned. Her stomach growled hungrily. "Guess I should eat something. I doubt Diego would want me starving myself to death."

Defeated and tired, she trudged toward the hospital's cafeteria. She felt too anxious to eat but knew food would momentarily sidetrack her attention while the nurses attended Diego.

"Please, if there's a God, let this be real. Let him come back to me," she prayed silently, hoping the nightmare would finally end.

A/N: Ugh, sorry for the lame boring chapter. Needed for plot development. I didn't want them to get "officially married" either. I didn't do it for the corny factor. I did it because in all seriousness, you have to have some relation to a patient to pay for their bills--either that or the person who is liable for them has to accept that money as payment. I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. D:

Also, I'm sorry this chapter is late--I was having some Fanfiction on-site issues. My beta tried sending a chapter back and I didn't receive it. And the on-site edit/preview has some issues with certain numbers apparently.

Song for this chapter: Duffy - Scared