The Apology

His hands were shaking as they lifted the phone from the counter. Bewildered, he stared at them for a moment before dropping the cell and squeezing his hands tightly into fists. After a few seconds he released them and the breath he'd been holding, and lifted it up again, pressing the first number on his speed dial. It was always possible that she wouldn't answer, that her phone would ring and ring before going to voicemail, allowing him to take the coward's way out. She could take one look at the caller id and refuse to pick up, too. Face it; he wasn't exactly her favorite person right now. Not that he could blame her, he wasn't his own favorite person right now, either.

"'Lo?" Her voice was husky with sleep which made him smile just a tad through his unease. He'd always loved when she was like this; warm and sleepy, ready to snuggle so tightly against him that he wasn't sure if he'd be able to take a breath without her knowing. Maybe that was the point. "Hullo?"

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you. I just-" he stopped abruptly, somehow unable to add the 'I needed to hear your voice' to the end of his statement.

"Tony?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated hurriedly, simultaneously telling himself to leave her alone and cursing himself for being unable to talk to his own wife. "I'll let you get back to bed. I'm sorry for-"

"No, no, don't! Don't hang up," she interrupted almost forcefully, and he could picture her sitting up and wiping the sleep from her eyes. "It's okay." She laughed in his ear, but it wasn't amusement so much as it was a way to fill the silence. "I fell asleep on the couch again."

"Oh." It was lame, but it was all he had.

"You do know what time it is, right?" she asked, but it was relatively without rancor.

He looked to the clock over the microwave, realizing that sometime between when he'd decided to call her and when he actually dialed, two hours had passed. It had been ten when he started.

"I, uh-"

"Are you drunk, Tony?" Now that held sharpness to it. He winced, scratching his cheek and looking at the coffee table in the living room. He had been drinking, yes, but he wasn't drunk. It had been just a beer during the game. The way it used to be, before he lost her, his head, his life, everything. He'd stopped long before deciding to make the call.

"No. I-"

"Tony, just go sit down and I'll talk to you until you fall asleep," she offered slowly, disappointment tainting each word.

"I'm not drunk," he asserted, finally finding his tongue, but not his ire. She was right to be condescending, to tell him how badly he'd fucked up. "I just wasn't sure you'd answer the phone."

Heavy silence ticked between them, and he heard her release a loud breath.

"To-"

"Listen, I just need to get something off my chest and then I'll let you go. Alright?"

He could picture her nodding thoughtfully, biting her lip to contain the sad grimace. He hated putting that look on her face.

"Okay."

He coughed quietly, not really sure where to begin. He'd never been good at doing things over the phone, he much preferred to be face to face, to see her eyes and know how she was really feeling.

"Tony?" she prompted. "I do have work in the morning."

He tried not to take offense at the unspoken 'unlike some' in her tone.

"Can we do this in person?" he blurted, despite the voice inside his head that was screaming for the opposite.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," she denied hesitantly, and the softness in her voice reminded him of the reasons why. The last time he'd seen her had been the first time in their relationship, in his entire life, that he'd ever been the cause of the phrase 'You're hurting me.' He swallowed, feeling his stomach roll at that. He'd gotten upset, gotten in her face, grabbed her arm to keep her from walking away, and it had been the final straw. She'd packed a bag and walked out mere minutes later.

"Please, Michelle. Please. You know I can't do this over the phone."

"I don't even know what this is about," she snapped. "All I know is it's midnight and you haven't called in a month and all the sudden you want to talk."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. But I don't know what you want."

He refrained from growling. "I wanted to apologize. I miss you and I'm sorry. That's it." He sighed, looking around the kitchen again, missing his home with her even more acutely.

"I, I don't know what to say," she murmured. She was probably stunned by the apology alone; he wasn't known for being able to break down and say he was sorry, and the last time they'd spoken, he had shouted awful, hateful things at her, blaming her for things that were his fault and his alone. It may have taken him over a month to realize that, but it was true.

"You don't have to say anything; I just needed to tell you." He lowered himself heavily down into a chair, resting his forehead against his palm.

"Tony," she started, her voice sounding pinched in his ear. She laughed roughly before continuing, "Are you sure you're not drunk?"

"Unless there's liquor in my water," he replied quietly, feeling even more miserable with the implication that she didn't think he'd be making the effort on his own.

She made some kind of humming noise. "That was, I shouldn't have said that."

"It's alright. I deserve it. I'll let you get back to sleep now."

"No, don't. Don't. Don't hang up. We haven't talked in a long time."

"I'm sorry for that, too. What I said, what I did, the last time, I didn't mean it. Forgive me."

There was silence on her end for a long time before she finally answered. "I do, Tony. I shouldn't have said what I said either."

He closed his eyes, remembering the angry words she'd hurled his way, the sarcastic admonishments for not even trying anymore. No, she hadn't been passive in their fight. His Michelle could give as well as she got. Even if it had ended with him grabbing her arm and using his physical size against her, something it almost made him sick to remember.

"How's your arm?"

He imagined her touching the spot he'd wrapped in his grip, and just hoped that the mottled bruises he envisioned had faded, or never existed at all.

"It's fine. It only hurt for a day or so."

Even a day was too long, he wanted to retort, when he never should have hurt her to begin with.

"Tony?"

"Mmm?"

"What made you call me tonight? Why not tomorrow, or Friday, or never?"

Why had he chosen then to pick up the phone? He could have just as easily never done so, and gone on telling himself and everyone else that he was the victim and she was the bad guy. It was what he'd spent a month saying anyway; she'd thrown him to the wolves, abandoned him when everything got rough. For some reason today he'd accepted that it wasn't true and he'd been unable to convince himself that he didn't need to call. His head said to leave her be, but the part of him that woke up on the couch in someone else's home every morning, missing her warmth… that part inevitably won.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I love you and I needed to hear your voice," he added with even less volume.

She could have sniffed, but he wasn't sure. He guessed that was a good thing about the phone, he didn't have to see it when he made her cry again.

"I love you, too."

"I don't want it to be like this."

"Me neither."

He sighed. "I can't find a job, Michelle. I shouldn't have wasted those couple I had-"

"There'll be more. Don't give up."

He looked to the ceiling, feeling the familiar shred of annoyance at her empty assurances and tamping it down. She meant well, she really did, and he loved her for trying. He shifted the phone, scratching his cheek.

"Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"If you come home, can we start over?"