Force Chapter 8

Authors' Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! You've given me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Hopefully it'll get a little happier soon, since Connie's about to get pissed, and we all know that pissed off people say and do things that are a bit out of character. MWAHAHAH *cough* Let me know what you think!

P.S: Wendell came out on Halloween and thoroughly scared some children. Unfortunately, he was spooked by some little girl dressed as Hannah Montana and has now retreated under my bed. *sigh* I suppose it was only a matter of time. Anyway, REVIEW!!!

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Connie unlocked her door and entered her apartment. It was dim, which surprised her; Mike should have been back by now. She could make out the dull outlines of her furniture in the half- light from the late afternoon sky.

She'd gone to the hospital to have them check her bruises like the doctor had asked, then she'd gone around to her sister's to spend some quality time with her niece and nephew. If anything could help nightmares, it was playing ponies and rescue rangers with a five and seven year old. Not that they hadn't kicked her out almost immediately—she sucked at playing games—but it was fun to watch them nonetheless.

Now, as she turned on the light, she made a shocking discovery. The pillow and blankets she had used to make a bed for Mike were gone, and all the dishes in her sink form their breakfast clean and waiting in the drying rack. Her heart thumping painfully, she tore down the hall toward the bathroom. As she'd suspected, his toothbrush was gone. Connie searched the entire apartment looking for a note, or some reminder that she hadn't been alone the past four days, but she was disappointed. It was like he'd never been there.

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Mike opened the door to his apartment and sighed. The last four days had been a blessing as well as a curse; he'd had someone to talk to, to cook for, and to come home to. The sight before him now simply reminded him of his solitary existence.

He'd gotten a call from Cyrus Lupo earlier that afternoon; they'd found a few of the gang recruits that had had a part in Connie's kidnapping and were trying to interrogate them and get them to give up Jose Phillipe and the others. Then Lupo said something that turned his brain to mush.

"So from what I hear you and Rubirosa are bumping uglies off the books. Good for you, Cutter, it's been a long time coming."

Mike had hung up without answering, simply asking the detective to keep him posted. It had been a long time coming? Did everyone know about his feelings for Connie? Did they think he was the next Jack McCoy, notorious for sleeping with his second chair? No. He would not do that. His feelings for Connie were completely singular; he'd never had a relationship with anyone in his office before (not including Carly). Connie was different, special...

But after hearing the light hearted way Lupo had discussed his and Connie's relationship, even if the facts had been false, he'd gotten scared. How could he do this? This was Connie. If it didn't work, then he'd be stuck working with her until she could find a place to transfer. The mere thought of not seeing her every day made his stomach drop painfully. He couldn't bear that.

So he'd gone over to Connie's early and placed the blankets he'd used back into the linen closet. He then proceeded to take everything that had accumulated over the previous four days; tooth brush, towel, shaving kit, his extra tie, his sweater... he'd erased every trace of himself in her home.

Mike slumped onto his couch and opened the beer he'd pulled from the fridge. He'd barely raised the bottle to his lips when an insistent knock interrupted the silence. He got up and went to the door, too tired to look through the peephole. He wrenched the door open, coming face to face with a very pissed off Connie.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, barging into his apartment.

"Well, this is my apartment...I live here," Mike replied, setting his beer down. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to know why all your stuff is out of my apartment!" she cried, running one hand through her chestnut hair.

"You slept fine last night; didn't wake up once," he replied, flopping into his easy chair in an attempt to look less tense. "You don't need me anymore."

"That's up for me to decide, damnit!" she yelled, stalking farther into his apartment. "What really made you leave?"

"I told you—"

"Bullshit. You've been so great to me this past week and now you just up and leave? I just—ugh, you're so freaking stupid—" she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his chair. Mike didn't even have an opportunity to protest before she pressed her mouth to his. It was heaven, just like he knew it would be. Mike was very used to ignoring the fantasies he allowed himself about Connie, but now that she was here, in his apartment, with her arms twined around his neck, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get this feeling to go away.

Connie pulled away a minute later, her eyes wide with surprise at what she'd just done. Sure, she'd had that one dream about it, the first night he slept in her apartment, but she was able to pass it off as a side- effect of the medication the doctor's had given her for her broken ribs. But now, on a significantly lower dosage, she could see that her dream was not a fluke; it was some kind of subconscious message. And now she'd gone and acted it out.

Fortunately, he seemed just as shocked as her, which kept him silent for a few minutes. Those few minutes were all she needed; her numb brain went suddenly into overdrive, opting for flight instead of fight. She turned tail and practically ran out into the night. He didn't follow her.