AN: Sorry for the delay. And for the lack of dialogue in this one. And for wasting your time, probably.

His test results came in and he was seated in front of 3 doctors again (doctor Tancredi wasn't even among them which discouraged him even more) who talked about his condition for 30 minutes and how the meds were starting to influence his heart and that they had to reschedule the surgery and it would take place in just a few days. Afterwards he was brought into the exam room, flustered and distressed, and was left to wait for his procedures and yet another bunch of pre-surgery tests.

To crown it all, his doctor didn't show up. She wasn't around for his tests and his procedures were performed by a tall slim Doctor White. As the needle was stuck into his vein by a large calluos hand instead of an elegant and soft one, he opened his mouth and asked about her.

- Doctor Tancredi is not around today, but I have all your previous test results and everything I need, so don't worry.

Overwhelmed by the news the upcoming surgery, he couldn't give a lot of thought to her absence but he surely missed her calming presence and soft bedside manner.

Hours later, exhausted by numerous medical manipulations and troublesome thoughts, he left the hospital and drove home. He had a hard task to calm himself down enough to break the news to his brother. It was one of those times again, when he felt as if he were the older brother, and not the other way around.

The weekend promised to be hectic, since he only had a few days to prepare for the surgery and long hospital stay. He tried not to think too much of what's ahead and how hard the recovery will be and which complications could occur. One day at a time, he told himself, step by step.

The morning was as terrible as the previous day. She couldn't kick the thoughts of him out of her mind. Bitter and angry at both him and herself, she covered her head with the blanket and exhaled slowly. She knew falling back asleep wasn't and option now, so she just lay there trying not to think of anything, anything at all. To concentrate on the clock ticking or the faint sounds of the street barely seeping into the room through the closed windows. It had only worked for no more than a couple of minutes, and then the razor-sharp words thrown at her came back to her memory and she couldn't shake the feeling of hurt and shame off. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to hold back tears and keep her breathing even, but her heart was racing in her chest anxiously. This was no good. Not good at all. She felt like she was losing her ground and she fought desperately not to, she couldn't let this happen. Not after all these months of hard work to get her life back on track.

She kicked the covers off and got out of bed abruptly. She needed to occupy herself with something. Looking around her modest bedroom she didn't see anything useful, other than a pile of clothes on the chair near the window. She grabbed some pair of pants form the pile and fished a shirt out of the dresser. Skipping the shower, she dawned the clothes on and stepped out into the living room, trying to come up with some kind of activity that would be at least a little appealing and distractive. Clean up? No, terrible idea. She needed something to keep her brain busy, not only her hands. Her eyes landed on her sports bag and a sparkle of hope flashed inside of her chest. She grabbed the bag, before her brain could talk her out of it and start tempting her with other, more destructive ideas. She took a bottle of water out of her fridge, and picked her phone from the kitchen counter it was sitting on since last night. She took it to her bedroom and buried the gadget under her pillow. Having checked that the bag was filled with everything she needed, she got ready to leave for to the gym, hoping that her body held some energy for a workout, despite the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday's lunch. Workout was a good idea, concentrating on breathing and exercising had successfully proven to keep her thoughts away from basically anything (as long as you stay away from the treadmill, she reminded herself). She pulled on her coat and grabbed a scarf, and went out of the apartment.

The afternoon was chilly, brisk wind filled the park and was raging full force here by the lakeshore. Thanks to it, the area was almost void of people. She fixed her scarf and hid her hands back in the pockets swiftly. The sound of lake waters was caressing her ears and it was worth the cold. She left her bag at the gym having every intention to come back later tonight for another workout. She needed to eat something in the meantime, but having no money on her it required a visit home and she didn't feel like it and had no appetite anyway. She closed her eyes and sighed, licking her lips. The wind attacked the wet tender skin immediately and burnt it with icy needles making her fish around in her pockets for a chapstick, but there was nothing except for her keys. She couldn't decide how she felt right here and right now, illusively safe or lost and helpless?.. It didn't really matter, because she had to come back home eventually (and soon). And then back to work, in a few days. Just few days to get herself together and be okay enough to be there for her patients without any side thoughts of her father or all those bottles with meds and drugs she had free access to.

She groaned and rubbed her face with her palms. He was right, she was such a failure. "So why resist it?" the voice in her head pushed, and it was becoming more insistent. No matter how hard she tried to rebuild her life, it wasn't enough to restore his faith in her and to forgive her. And there was noone else who cared enough or whom she could trust enough to open up and seek help or support. Old times friends were left in her old life, the one she led before she crashed and burned, spiraled down the dark path. She didn't have anyone these days, except for maybe Katie, the nurse she worked with. But they weren't close enough, and Sara didn't want to alarm or push her away by confiding her struggle in her.

So she kept sitting there alone, her mind overwhelmed by thoughts, heart thumping with anxiety. The time was dragging slowly, and the wind seemed to get colder by the minute.

Before long, she noticed a figure approaching her solitary spot from the right and bent her head low waiting for the person to pass her by. They seemed to slow down though and she turned her face in the opposite direction. There was no one else around and the person seemed to stop completely somewhere too close to her comfort. She wasn't scared, - she knew she could take care of herself and defend herself if needed, but the fact that they stopped near her made her uncomfortable. Better turn and look them in the eye then, if she had to kick somebody's ass, she didn't want to be caught off guard. Turning her head, still bent down, to the left abruptly, she saw black male shoes and dark grey jacket (clean and new looking – which she took as a good sign). He was standing about five steps away and she raised her head to look into his face and recognized him immediately. It also became clear now, that he recognized her too, and that's why he had stopped. She was silent for a moment, and so was he, probably taken aback by her wretched look. She tried to assess how she must have looked, and well, it couldn't be very good, that's for sure.. Well, to hell with the pretense then, it was no use to come up with a lie and pretend she was doing great (especially since he was aware that she was skipping work). The way his attentive eyes were searching her face, she knew he wouldn't buy it anyway. She sighed and pursed her lips, realizing she was just staring at him without saying anything for a little too long (and he looked drained and wistful himself, but she knew exactly why, and it didn't prevent him from looking handsome, just like he always did). Finally, she found her voice and uttered in a way of greeting:

- Michael..?

The sound seemed to break him out of his own stupor and he replied quickly:

- Hi.

- Hi, - she echoed, noticing how he didn't call her anything (probably couldn't decide what was appropriate) and watched him come a couple of steps closer. Strangely she didn't feel like running away. Something told her he wouldn't ask inconvenient questions. So she nodded when he closed the final few steps and gestured towards the bench she was sitting on with a polite "May I?".

- You come here often? – he asked carefully, after sitting down beside her, observing the distance.

- Only when I'm having a bad day or need to make a decision.

- And which is today?

- Both, - she smiled gravely.

She casted him a sideways glance, trying not to shiver from the cold wind, because of course he would notice. He was wearing a light grey fleece beanie - good thought on keeping that head warm, she approved mentally, and regretted leaving her own hat behind.

- I know about the surgery. I'm sorry I wasn't there, - and she really was. She knew her presence was somehow important (calming?) for him. But she just couldn't. For her own sake. She was still there though when his results came in and the decision of rescheduling the surgery was made. So she knew.

– I had to take a few personal days, - she admitted reluctantly and paused before adding: - I made sure you were given to the best doctor, though.

He was silent and she turned to look at him, meeting his eyes. He had really nice eyes. Blue and deep like the lake waters (and equally mesmerizing), only much, much warmer. She couldn't read his expression, but he said a "Thank you" that sounded sincere enough and lowered his gaze to his gloved hands. (God, he came prepared, unlike her. She hid her own hands deeper in the pockets).

- So, why are you here, alone? You must have a lot to do with the surgery coming up, - she genuinely regretted she wasn't there for his procedures. She cared about all her patients but he was one of those her mind would come back to when she was off work too. That is, until all the mess of the last few days started. She sighed quietly, biting her lip, as her thoughts wondered back to the events of these days. He had successfully distracted her from her destructive speculations for about 5 minutes, she thought solemnly.

- I needed some time alone to think. I'm still having hard time to come to terms with this surgery. To be honest it scares the hell out of me.

She wasn't sure what was a good/right thing to say to this. Tell him once again he had good prognosis, remind him the tumor was benign? He heard these things too many times. And good prognosis didn't eliminate the possibilities of things going wrong during or post operation. And it was natural to be scared. She appreciated him voicing it to her, though. He seemed like an honest and sensitive guy.

- You know we can't guarantee anything, but I've seen different cases of brain surgery patients, and if everything goes as planned, you're going to be fine. The post-surgery rehab is not a peace of cake… But you just have to march on.

She tried to master an answer that wasn't just your typical doctor speech. He wasn't here as her patient now, after all. At this point she wasn't sure she'll be back at the hospital in time for his post-surgery rehab. She shivered and it didn't escape his attention. She added slowly: - And Doctor White is very professional. You're in good hands.

She knew he caught what she meant. She was referring to his rehab. He asked cautiously:

- You're not coming back?

She was almost sure she heard a trace of disappointment in his voice. She swallowed a thick lump suddenly obstructing her throat and replied after a bit:

- I don't know., Don't know yet.

Suddenly she felt like crying or running away, both options highly embarrassing. God, she was such a mess. How naïve was to think she would be able to fix herself within just a few days.. She was looking down at her lap but could feel his penetrative eyes boring into the left side of her face. She felt lost and miserable, and there was no way it escaped his observant eyes. Hot tears started to burn her eyelids and she was grateful when he broke the silence:

- Well.. Considering the circumstances, and the fact that I don't know when and if I'll be seeing you again, I'd like to call on that promise of yours to go for a coffee with me.

She met his confident gaze, raising a hand out of her pocket to fix her hair, messed up by the wind once again. She must look like such a wreck, in her current state plus the messed hair and red face thanks to the wind and her emotions. He caught on her surprise/hesitation and added: - Besides, don't know about you, but I'm freezing.

He followed her gaze to his gloved hands and then hat and shrugged unperturbedly. She couldn't help a small smile creeping over her face.

The coffeeshop wasn't crowded, to her relief, and she chose a table in the farthest corner. They have discussed the coffee preferences on the way and upon entering Michael asked if she was hungry, and having received a negative reply, he went to the cashier. She saw him grabbing whichever muffins were closest to him on the counter and smiled a little, wondering if he confused her lack of appetite with excessive modesty or grabbed them just in case she changed her mind later. He was a really sweet guy and she felt yet another pang of self-deprication for turning her life into a mess and thus making a guy like Michael become someone out of her league. He was smart and well-spoken, and she enjoyed talking to him. They both avoided difficult topics and she had a feeling she was as much of his distraction as he was hers. But it didn't feel as unhealthy as it sounded in her head. They were on the second cups when his phone rang and she escaped to the bathroom to give him some privacy and check herself in the mirror. When she returned to their table he was done talking, long fingers back on his cup.

- It was my brother, he's worried about my long absence, - he explained (even though she didn't expect him to).

She sat back down and looked into her cup, freshly arranged hair falling back to her face. Nice as it was, time to go back to her reality. She tried to smile for his benefit but it probably looked pathetic. Looking up at him she was caught in the intense stare of his blue eyes. He wasn't voicing all the questions, he was trying to find the answers in her eyes.

- I'm sorry, Michael.

If he asked her what for, she wouldn't be able to give him a definite answer.

- Sara, no matter what happens to you or to me, I want you to know, that I would love to see you again. And.. if you need anything, anything at all, - he looked for something in the pockets of his jacket and placed a card in front of her on the table. – I mean… after I'll be able to answer the phone again, that is.

She took it slowly, it was his business card, with his name and contact information. After a second she watched his hand gently cover hers. She looked at their touching hands for a couple of long moments, his thumb caressing her soft skin, than bit her lip and made herself say:

- You don't want to do this, Michael.

She kept her hand in place though, and so did he.

- How do you know? – he asked softly.

- Because you don't need this. I'm not .. I'm not what you see.

- Well.. – He paused for a second. - I'm not what people see either. They don't see my brain tumor, but it doesn't mean it's not there.

She was on the verge of tears but looked him in the eyes and saw raw emotion there, making her marvel once again, how much he could convey with just his eyes.

She turned her palm upwards and squeezed his hand, before withdrawing hers and standing up.

- I have to go, Michael. Good luck with the surgery.

With that she secured her scarf around her neck and left, clasping the card in her hand.