Sorry that I missed an update last week! I've been working on this fic instead of finishing one of the ones I already have in progress. It's probably the longest one I'll ever write, it's about twice the length of one of my normal uploads. I've noticed you guys wanting some stuff including Amanda being in danger, which is what this update focuses on. Enjoy as always!

"C'mon, babe, can't you just do that stuff tomorrow?" Michael asked pleadingly as he placed kisses along her body, admiring the feel of her smooth skin beneath his lips. His hands gently caressed her hips. Ever since they'd gotten back together a few weeks ago, they could barely keep their hands off of each other, much to the horror of their kids.

Amanda buried her fingers into his hair, sighing in pleasure, "Michael, darling, you know that I love you acting like this, but I have to get an outfit for your big movie premiere. Honestly, I have no idea how you even got that job in the first place," she wondered.

"What, my naturally charming personality isn't enough?" he asked, grinning down at her.

"Yeah, maybe twenty years ago I'd believe that it was," she said teasingly.

"Hurtful," he pouted. "But I don't get why you're leaving just as we're getting started."

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, "I'll only be gone for a little bit. We can just pick up where we left off," she whispered in his ear.

He sighed in defeat and rolled over onto his side of the bed, "Fine."

"Love you," she said, getting up and grabbing his car keys from the nightstand.

"Wow, first you leave and then you take my car?" he called out from the bed.

"Mine is still in the shop for another day. The engine's been fucked up for a couple of months now…" she trailed off as she got dressed.

"Yeah, I don't know anything about that," Michael said with a nervous laugh, remembering the day his yacht got stolen.

"Right," she smirked knowingly. "I'll see you later."

"Love you, too…" he muttered quietly before she left.

Amanda glanced nervously at the rearview mirror. The same cars had been following her ever since she had left the house. The cars were too cliche to be a coincidence: black, tinted windows, completely nondescript. She swallowed nervously, speeding up a little bit. Her pursuers sped up, too. She shakily reached for her phone to call Michael, only to see that it was dead. "Shit…" she said under her breath.

Another quick glance at the mirror showed the windows of the other cars rolling down and the unmistakable metallic glint of a gun. Suddenly, it clicked in her. The fact that she was using her husband's car, the shady jeeps following her…

"God, I'm gonna fucking kill him…" she whispered in a trembling voice. She sped up more in an attempt to escape of the futility of her situation. The chase had led them into East Los Santos at this point, the roads becoming a bit too empty and secluded for her taste. The jeep in the front roared louder and closed in farther, ramming into the back of her car in the process.

She grimaced in pain and surprise at the whiplash, already feeling bruises starting to form on her body from the impact. Gunshots started ringing in her ears as the men started opening fire on her. Amanda ducked her head and set her jaw, her frustration disguising her fear, "Oh, come on…"

The back window shattered as a bullet went through it, only inches away from where her head had been. Another gunshot rang out along with the popping sound of one of her tires. The tire gave out, the useless rim grinding along the road.

She desperately tried to control the car, but another tire was quickly shot out as well, making it near impossible to steer anymore. Despite her best efforts, she finally crashed into a railing. Her head hit the steering wheel, almost making her pass out on the spot.

She barely registered the jeeps behind her stop, or the armed men getting out of them, barely heard one of them starting to speak into a radio. "Mr. Weston, it's not him," one of the mercenaries said. "It's the idiot's wife."

"Even fucking better! Bring her to my warehouse. You can have a little fun, but try to keep her in one piece, yeah?" a smug voice replied.

"Yes, sir," the mercenary answered monotonously, opening the door of her car.

The last thing she felt before her vision went black was a needle slipping into the side of her neck.

Michael paced around the living room nervously. It had been hours since his wife had left and she hadn't even texted him. All of his calls had gone straight to voicemail, his texts unread.

It wasn't that he was afraid that she was cheating on him again, he was confident that that part of their relationship was fixed, even though a little part of him still worried about that. He was more afraid of her paying the price for his own stupid mistakes. In his line of work, he had to be constantly on edge or he'd be dead. It was one thing for him to get hurt, that was fine, he'd make it, but he would have no idea what to do if something happened to her.

The ringing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. He immediately rushed over to it, expecting to see that Amanda was calling him, apologizing for not calling sooner, but was met with anger upon seeing the real caller.

"Devin," he seethed. "The fuck do you want?"

"Oh, it's not something that I want, Michael. In fact, I think I have something of yours," Devin said.

Michael's blood ran cold. "Bullshit," he said weakly, trying to call his bluff.

"I think she wants to say hi! One second…" Muffled cries of pain and sounds of struggling carried through the phone.

Finally, he heard a small, confused murmur of, "Michael, help me…" coming from his wife.

Michael just stood there in shock, mouth hanging open. In that moment, there was no convincing himself that he was a good guy, that he did wrong things for the right reasons. He was a monster for letting this happen to her. "I'm sorry, baby...I'm gonna get you outta there as soon as I can," he frantically tried to reassure her. "I love you and I'm gonna take care of this."

"How romantic!" Devin mocked. "But I don't think that's going to happen. After all, I thought going after women was fair game?"

"Molly died in an accident following your orders and I'm sorry about that, okay?!" Michael angrily explained.

"Well, accidents happen, don't they?" Devin asked vaguely.

Michael took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, "This is between you and me, so just let her go and we can talk this through."

"Negotiation time is over, Michael," the billionaire snapped. "You took something of mine away from me so I'm just returning the favor!"

"Hey, send your private army after me all you want, pal, I won't be hiding! But I won't let you lay a goddamn hand on her!" Michael growled, fist clenched at his side

"I'm afraid it's a bit late for that…" Devin trailed off.

Something in Michael finally snapped. He wasn't sure if it was the other man's smugness, the thought that his wife was hurt or worse, or a bit of both. "I'm gonna fucking kill you, Devin!" he yelled.

Devin just laughed. "Goodbye, Michael," he said before he hung up.

"That guy is the worst kind of disaster!" Devin mused as he put his phone back in his pocket. His calculating eyes trailed over to her, his helpless captive. A cruel smirk crossed his face. "Tell me something: how on Earth did you two stay married?"

Amanda shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. Her wrists were tied tightly to the arms of the chair, chafed raw and bleeding, and her head was killing her, but she sat up straighter and glared coldly at him.

"I mean, was it really love? I hear you're the type of girl who likes money a lot, if you know what I mean-" Devin started.

"Fuck you," she snapped. "You don't know anything about me and him."

"Hit a nerve there, huh? I know enough…" he said, flipping through a file. "I know that De Santa isn't your real last name. I know that the both of you have had numerous affairs, more than even I'm comfortable talking about and I'm a freak! I know why you both had the affairs..."

"Do you have a point with all of this?" she asked in a bored tone.

"Actually, I do have a point and it's that your husband is the most selfish person I've ever met! He's messed up several business ventures of mine, not to mention what he's done to you. After all, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him..."

"If you're trying to make me blame him or hate him for this, it's not gonna work," she said calmly.

"I guess I'll have to be a little more persuasive then…" he muttered, grabbing a knife from a nearby table. "Now, I'm not the type of guy to do my own dirty work, but I don't trust any of these knuckleheads to do the job right. Plus, Townley won't take this too seriously unless that pretty face is a little less perfect…"

The knife pressed into her cheek just hard enough to draw blood. She had to bite down on her lip to keep herself from crying out in agony. "Or he'll just kill you for hurting me…" Amanda said, voice tight with pain.

Devin shrugged but put the knife down anyway. "Well, we're going to have to deal with you one way or another."

"He'll come for me…" she muttered.

"Maybe he will," he said. "If there's one thing I know about Michael, it's that he acts in his own self-interest. I'd like to see him try to get past all these armed goons, anyways."

She looked at the platoon of steroid-filled muscle heads with assault rifles, unimpressed. "You're gonna need more than this to get rid of him," she said with a smirk.

Michael ran a hand down his face, sighing. He wished that there was another way, but he had no idea how much time he had. Reluctantly, he called Trevor.

"Speak," Trevor answered shortly.

"Uh, hey, T," he started nervously.

Trevor's annoyance practically seeped through the phone, "Are you calling me for a chat or something, Townley?"

"Look, I know we're not on the best terms, but I need your help. It's about Devin," Michael said.

"Ugh, that prick!" Trevor growled. "Is this about Frank's money?"

"No, this is different. He...he took Amanda," his voice cracked slightly, finally giving into all of the emotions and pressure weighing him down. Actually saying it out loud made the reality of the situation that much harsher.

"He what?!" Trevor asked in confusion, anger steadily creeping into his voice.

"He wanted to get me for some bullshit issues we had, but she was using my car...so he took her instead. I need your help to get her outta there," Michael explained. "He's gonna kill her if I don't get there fast enough!"

Trevor sighed. "Fuck...you're lucky that I don't want those kids to be without a mother. Come over here and we'll talk, alright?"

"Thanks, T," Michael said with a weak smile.

"You owe me for this, M."

Michael chuckled bitterly, "Yeah, I know…"

Devin looked at his watch, an almost bored look on his face. "Huh, I would have thought he'd shown up by now. Maybe he isn't coming…"

Amanda was beginning to get nervous, more nervous than she already was, at least. He had to be on his way, right? He was probably just making a plan...he wouldn't just give up and leave her here to die. Her husband had done many questionable things in his life, but he'd do anything to protect her. "He will…" she said under her breath.

"He might, but he's sure taking his time about it. Anyways, I should get going. I have a dinner party tonight since I have better things to do than waiting around for a washed-up bank robber," Devin said with a laugh. He walked over to her, looking at her with an almost pitiful look in his eyes. "If only I didn't have my twenty and under rule...such beauty gone to waste." His hand touched her face, thumb wiping away the blood on her cheek.

She just stared at him in disgust and anger, her hands struggling against the restraints. Without thinking, she leaned forward and bit down hard on his finger, only stopping when she heard the click of guns being readied.

"Stupid bitch!" Devin yelled, finally losing his composure. Seething in rage, he slapped her with his good hand. She just smirked at him despite the stinging pain in her face. "You're feisty though...I like that." It was then that he noticed the mercenaries with the guns pointed at her. "Put the damn guns down, you idiots. I'm going to leave. If Townley shows up...well, you know what to do. Now, maybe another dose will calm you down…" The syringe slipped into her neck again and she stopped struggling.

"You know smoking is bad for you," Trevor quipped as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

Michael just rolled his eyes, frowning against his cigarette. "I'm sorry if my wife being kidnapped gets me a little stressed out," he said sarcastically.

Trevor grinned at him maniacally. "I don't want you dying on me before I get a chance to kill you myself."

"Oh, give it a rest, Trevor," Michael snapped impatiently. "At least until this shit is over with."

"Whatever you say…" the psychopath muttered, looking up when he saw the door open. "Ah, Franklin!"

"Hey dudes, what's happening?" Franklin asked as he walked in.

"Michael's dear wife has been abducted by our old friend Devin Weston and he needs our help to rescue her!" Trevor explained, gesturing wildly with the beer in his hand.

"Devin? Are you fucking serious?!" Franklin asked angrily. "I should have killed his punk ass the day he didn't give me my money…"

"Kid, this has nothing to do with you. Devin and I have been having some issues for a few weeks. This is between me and him," Michael reassured him.

"Yeah, whatever…" The younger man relaxed slightly. "So what's the plan, man?"

"Uh, I haven't thought that far ahead," Michael admitted. "I was too busy telling the kids what happened."

"Oh, I bet that went over well…" Trevor chuckled sarcastically.

Michael sighed. "Yeah, they were pretty pissed with me, but mostly scared. Made me feel like a huge asshole…"

"Well, you are one," Trevor said quickly.

"Yup, I know. Anyway, I sent them to a hotel until I figure things out…" Michael pulled his phone from his pocket, smirking. "Plans," he said, "are why we have Lester."

Lester answered almost immediately. "What now?" he asked, annoyed.

Michael quickly told him what happened. "So we need your help," he finished.

"Huh, that sounds…problematic…" Lester said distractedly.

"Yeah, no shit," Michael said. "Can you find us a location on Devin?"

"Fine..." Lester sighed. "Let's see...I have a phone signal from him a couple hours ago from a warehouse in North Los Santos. He's at his big mansion in the hills now, though."

Michael sighed in relief, glad that they had a lead. "Alright, send me the address. Thanks, Lester."

"Yeah...just be careful, okay?"

"We always are," Michael said before he hung up.

"So we going to the warehouse, right?" Franklin asked.

"Actually, I am," Michael replied. "I want you two to go to Devin's and cause a distraction while I go get Amanda."

"Uh, are you sure about that?" Trevor joined in. "The guy owns a private army and he's kinda expecting you to show up."

"I can handle myself, Trevor. This was my problem in the first place. Devin will probably send a bunch of his men over to his house once you get over there, anyway," Michael said.

"Good luck, man," Franklin said. "Let's go, T." Trevor reluctantly followed the younger man out of the strip club

"Thanks...I'll sure need it," Michael muttered.

Michael sat outside the warehouse, carefully loading his guns. He knew that he was in the right place judging by all of the Merryweather jeeps outside. A small smile crossed his face when a few of them left in a hurry, no doubt from his friends' distraction. He frowned, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. Trevor would run in guns blazing, no hesitation. Franklin would probably do the same thing now that he thought about it. Lester would tell him to play it smart and would try to hack his way through everyone. Michael decided to start things off stealthy.

He attached the suppressor to his pistol and slung his rifle over his back as he got out of the car. A quick glance at the building showed only two guards outside while the rest were no doubt inside. Michael hid by some cover behind the oblivious guards.

"I don't get why Weston hasn't just killed her yet," one of them said. "It'd teach the guy the same lesson."

The other mercenary scoffed. "I'd rather be guarding some annoying housewife than dealing with that psychotic drug dealer and his friends. Plus, she's easy on the eyes."

Definitely the right place, Michael thought, setting his jaw in barely concealed anger. He quickly stood up and dispatched the mercenaries, luckily not drawing the attention of the ones who were inside. He opened the back door of the warehouse, closing it quietly behind him.

His calculating blue eyes scanned the interior of the building. Typical Merryweather guards with assault rifles, a lot of them, but no more than he could handle. His shoulders slumped in relief when he saw his wife, tied up and scared, but alive.

It wasn't until there was a gun pressed to the back of his head that he noticed the mercenaries that had snuck up behind him. "So much for stealth…" he muttered sarcastically as he lifted his gun and turned around.

The first bullet he fired went through the head of the guy that had a gun to his head, the man's blood splattering onto his suit. His second went wild as the other guard tackled him, landing a few punches to his face - shit that's gonna leave a mark - and caused him to crash into the wall. He ducked down to grab his gun, smirking as the man punched the spot on the wall where his head just was.

Michael quickly ended his pain by firing a bullet into his gut. Panting, he scrambled behind cover, wiping away the blood running down his face from a cut on his forehead. It was times like these where he fully realized that he wasn't in his twenties anymore. He got his rifle off of his back and opened fire on the other mercenaries.

Time seemed to slow down as he fought off the rest of the men. After a long, exhausting fight, he finally managed to finish them off. Breathing heavily, he ran a hand through his hair and caught his breath for a moment. He looked around at all of the carnage surrounding him. "Jesus fuckin' Christ…" he muttered breathlessly.

Finally, he ran over to Amanda. She didn't look too worse for wear aside from a cut on her cheek and a couple bruises on her face. "Baby, are you okay?" he asked as he gently untied her hands, frowning at the blood covering her wrists. He could feel her trembling beneath his own hands.

She didn't respond, just stared down at the blood-soaked floor. He reached out for her, a little bit of his heart breaking when she flinched away from his hand.

"Amanda, c'mon, talk to me," he said softly. "It's me. It's over now."

The happiness he felt when she lifted her head up quickly faded when he saw the way she didn't look directly at him, saw how glazed and distant her normally beautiful eyes looked.

"You have to come back to me," he whispered, trying his best to get her to look at him.

When she finally looked at him, really looked at him, the warmth and softness in her blue eyes he was used to seeing was gone, replaced by fear and shock. "Yeah, I-I'm fine…" she finally managed to breathe out.

Michael sighed in relief. "Good...let's get you outta here," he said as he helped her stand up.

"You-you're okay, right?" she asked weakly.

"Ah, nothing that won't heal," he replied teasingly. He led her through the warehouse, trying to shield her view from the dead bodies as best he could. They paused briefly when they saw a mercenary who was bleeding out on the ground. Michael immediately drew his gun, aiming cautiously down at the dying man.

The Merryweather agent grinned at him through bloodstained teeth. "Gift from Devin," he said, revealing the live grenade in his hand. "He took the pin."

"Amanda, get back-" Michael tried to pull her away as far as he could before the explosion rang out. The force of it sent him flying a few feet, face first into the ground. "Oh, fuck…" he muttered as he unsteadily got up, wincing as he felt the pieces of shrapnel in his skin. He heard a strangled cry of pain coming to the right of him. "No…" he said when he saw the broken form of his wife.

Large fragments of shrapnel were embedded in her body, a pool of rapidly expanding blood around her. Burns ran along her arms and torso He ran over to her, feeling tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes. "Shit...shit…" he said frantically, his hands covering her wounds in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. Amanda just moaned in pain beneath him. This was all his fault, he knew. This would have never happened to her if she'd still been away from him. "I'm so sorry…" he whispered.

Everything hurt. Trying to get up, pressing her hands to her injuries, even breathing sent agony through her body. The pieces of shrapnel in her body were practically living things, moving and cutting her more with every breath. Michael's voice sounded faint and muffled to her ears when he said, "I'm gonna pick you up, okay?"

He gently scooped her up in his arms and started running towards the exit. Sweeping me off my feet again, she wanted to say, but all she could do was bury her face in his shirt and cry in pain. "Michael…" Amanda whimpered.

"I know it hurts, baby, but you're gonna be okay," he said with overwhelming guilt in his voice.

"Not...your fault…" she whispered. Something was dripping onto her and had a feeling that it wasn't blood. She glanced up at his face only to see tears falling from his eyes. She'd never seen him cry before, she realized. Not once in over twenty years of marriage. She honestly hadn't thought the man was capable of it. This was how bad she knew it was.

When they finally made it out to the car, he opened the door and put her in the back. A cry of pain came from her when her bloody, burnt arm bumped against the seat. "Sorry…" Michael immediately apologized. "I'm sorry…"

She stared at him as he walked over to the driver's side. He had a fair share of injuries, too. A few cuts and bruises on his face, a bullet graze, some shrapnel in his arms and back. But she knew all too well that most of the blood covering him was hers.

He started driving as fast as he could. "I need to make a call," he told her, not taking his eyes off of the rear view mirror, partly to see if there was anyone following them, mostly to see how she was doing. Amanda nodded, watching as he pulled out his phone. She could make out him saying that she needed a doctor, that going to the hospital wasn't an option. Eventually, he sighed a little in relief. "Thanks, Lester," he said before he hung up. He looked back at her. "Hey, Amanda, how you doing back there?"

She wanted to say that she was fine, that she'd be fine, anything to make him sound less worried. He was more scared than she and that made it worse. All that came out of her mouth was a pained sob.

"Alright, not good…" he muttered in translation. "We're on the way to the doctor right now. Just hang in there, darling."

She was trying, she really was, but her vision was starting to go dark around the edges. A person couldn't survive after losing a certain amount of blood and she was starting to think that she was getting very close to that number. She opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him one last time, but the words just couldn't form. Everything went black before she got a chance to say anything.

Michael sat impatiently outside of the room where his wife was being operated on. It had been a couple hours since he'd shown up outside of the doctor's with an unconscious Amanda in his arms. She could be dead or alive, he didn't know yet.

He looked down at his phone, where he read the news of a kidnapping at Devin Weston's party. Trevor had called him not long ago and had simply said, "It's done."

Strangely, despite Devin being gone, he didn't feel satisfied. It meant that he wouldn't bother him anymore, yeah, but he wished that it didn't take his wife nearly dying for that to happen. Even if Amanda made a full recovery, she'd have scars from the event, both physical and emotional. She could never be the same person as she was before.

Finally, the doctor emerged, exhausted and covered in blood. Michael anxiously looked up at him. "Well?" he asked.

The doctor pulled his mask off of his face, sighing. "She'll live," he said in a slightly accented voice. He was the best doctor in the state, Lester had reassured him. He'd moved from France to Los Santos to get rich by overpricing celebrities by day and white collar criminals by night.

"I need to see her," Michael immediately said as he got up before the doctor stopped him.

"Not so fast," he cut him off. "She is still unconscious and we need to attend to your injuries."

Michael set his jaw in annoyance, voice starting to rise, "I'm fine. Just let me see her."

The medic glared at him, syringe in hand. "Mr. De Santa, if you don't agree willingly, I will have to sedate you and treat your injuries, anyway."

"Fine," Michael relaxed slightly and allowed the other man to lead him into a different room. The doctor practically had to cut his ruined shirt off of him since it was stuck to his body with his wife's blood. He grimaced as the doctor dug the pieces of shrapnel from his back, the pieces of metal glimmering with blood when they were pulled out. "Tell me something, doc. How bad was it?"

"She lost a lot of blood and had a few second degree burns aside from a minor concussion. Let's just say she's lucky you got here when you did...'" he trailed off momentarily, a concentrated look crossing his face as he bandaged the bullet graze on Michael's arm. "I would be more concerned about her emotional state after she recovers."

"Why do you say that?" Michael asked.

"I'm afraid that I am not a therapist, but I have seen this before. She'll already be shaken up after being captured. As for the grenade, she is going to have some pretty bad scars that only time will heal. Look...she's a pretty girl, the type who values her body, yes?" he asked, earning a nod from Michael. "Suddenly, she's got these big scars and her perfect body doesn't feel so perfect anymore. It'll take a big hit to her self-esteem. I would keep a close eye on her for the next few months."

"Alright," Michael said quietly. "Thanks, doc."

"Just doing my job," he gave him a small smile. "Now you may go see her."

Michael all but sprinted over to the next room and rushed over to Amanda's bedside. Her skin was pale, too pale, and he could feel the bulk of the bandages wrapped around her body beneath the bed sheets, but she was alive. He grabbed her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her wedding ring. "I love you so much, darlin'. This is all my fault…" he whispered. He sighed as he sat back. "Time to wait…"

Waking up was a bit of a shock, mostly because she hadn't expected to wake up again. Amanda became instantly aware of the burning pains and aches of her injuries as she stirred awake. She groaned slightly, eyes hesitantly fluttering open.

"Amanda?"

Michael said it quietly enough, but to her sensitive ears he may as well have been shouting. She whimpered, shutting her eyes again. His hand gently tucked a few locks of hair behind her ear before settling over one of her own hands. She opened her eyes again and wearily took in her surroundings. They weren't at home, most likely at the doctor's place that Michael had mentioned before she had gone unconscious. It was night judging by the moonlight shining through the window. He sat next to her bed, looking as if he'd been through hell, which, she supposed, he had. The healing cuts and bruises on his face and dark circles under his eyes were a sharp contrast to his pale skin. "Hey…" she whispered.

He smiled at her in pure relief. "Hey. How do you feel?"

"Simply fantastic…" Amanda muttered sarcastically, coughing at the end of the sentence.

Michael chuckled as he got up to get her some water. "It's been two days, just so you know. The kids are fine, just scared, and that guy isn't going to bother us anymore."

She nodded, a bitter taste in her mouth, and couldn't help but notice the way his hand shook when he handed her the water bottle. "Michael…" she started after she took a drink.

"Yeah?" he asked, sitting back down and staring at her with tired eyes.

She stared down at herself, feeling the number of bandages covering her. "How bad was it?"

His face fell. "I'm not gonna lie...it was pretty bad, but the doctor says you're gonna be okay. But, shit...I almost lost you because of some stupid mistake I made."

"Michael, don't-" She knew exactly where this was going and desperately tried to stop it.

"Just think about it. This wouldn't have happened if you were still away from me. You and the kids would be so much better off without me…" he said quietly, a bitter edge to his voice.

Grimacing, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Stop that," she demanded. "You couldn't have known that this would happen. Just stop beating yourself up about it. God, someone else already did judging by the way you look…"

A genuine smile crossed his face. "Alright, fine," he conceded.

"Good…" she murmured tiredly, eyes starting to fall shut.

He took notice and adjusted her pillows a little bit. "Are you gonna go back to sleep?"

She nodded again, yawning. "You need to get some sleep, too."

"Honey, I'm fine."

"No, you look terrible, darling."

"Wow, thanks for putting it so lightly," he said sarcastically.

"It's true though, just...please get some sleep? For me?" she looked up at him pleadingly.

He sighed in defeat and turned off the light. "Okay, since you put it like that."

"Don't you want to go home and sleep in a real bed?" she asked in confusion.

It was dark but she could practically see the sadness in his eyes. "I can't sleep there without you," he admitted.

"Oh…" she said.

She felt his hand grip hers reassuringly. "I don't mind sleeping here, really. It's fine."

"Good night, Michael."

"Good night, sweetheart."

He stood above her, a cruel, unforgiving smirk on his face. Whatever drug he'd given her was still wearing off and all she could do was stare helplessly at him as he pressed the knife to her cheeks, her neck, blood seeping beneath the blade. He laughed at her whines of pain, her struggles against the restraints. Eventually, finally, he left, leaving her at the mercy of his hired army.

"Just you and us now…" one of them grinned suggestively at her. His eyes stared down at her hungrily, a look that she had seen too many times before. "Be a shame to let that bank robber have you all to himself…"

Her eyes widened in horror as the mercenary started taking off his body armor. She started to panic and fight harder against the straps, not caring about the biting pain in her wrists. The man had just started to unzip his pants when a gunshot rang out. "What the fuck?!" the agent yelled.

Her head snapped to the source, shoulders sagging in relief when she saw her husband fighting off the guards. He got tackled by one of them, his gun firing off wildly as he fell. The stray bullet buried itself in the head of the guard who had just tried to make those…advances on her.

And suddenly she wasn't tied to the chair anymore, she was being led by Michael before they stopped by a dying guard. She saw the grenade on the ground too late, didn't follow Michael's warning until it was too late.

She stared at the pieces of metal jutting out of her body, watching blood soak through her burned and ruined clothes. A terrified scream cut through the air and it took her a moment to realize that it was her.

Michael picked her up with gentle, strong arms and carried her outside into the car. He reassured her constantly, told her that they were gonna see the best doctor. The car seat was slick with her blood and she knew that she needed to tell him that she loved him because she was dying. He looked back at her, face darkening when he saw the state of her. "Amanda!" he said desperately, trying to keep her awake-

"Amanda, wake up!"

She shot awake, screaming, scrambling away from the touch. She was back in that warehouse...she was dying-

"Baby, calm down, it's okay," Michael gently rested his hands on her shoulders. "It's me, it's just me."

Amanda buried her face into his shirt, sobbing. "Michael, I-" she stuttered through her tears. Her fingers dug into his back, probably painful against his healing injuries, but she needed the reassurance that he was actually there and not just some dream.

It still all felt too real. Every time she shut her eyes she saw the grenade rolling towards her slowly, her blood pooling around her, Michael's face staring down at her pityingly...

Strong hands ran through her sweaty hair. Calm, reassuring, loving. Not like...no. She shook her head, not being able to bring herself to think about that. "Take a deep breath, Mandy. Breathe. You're safe," he murmured. He didn't tell her that she was okay or that they were fine because that was a flat out lie.

"Before you got me, one of them tried to…" she had started crying too much to finish the sentence.

Michael got the idea of what she was trying to say and pulled her closer. "God damn it...I'm sorry, baby…" his voice cracked as he buried his face into her hair.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until her crying subsided, both of them desperate for each other's touch. It had been three weeks since the doctor let her go home but it felt like just yesterday he had brought her there, unconscious and barely breathing, in his arms. Since then, they had both woken each other up screaming in the middle of the night almost every day with their respective nightmares; his about losing her, hers about losing herself.

"Sorry for waking you up…" she whispered after she caught her breath.

"Don't be. I've done that to you too many times before. 'Bout time I got a taste of my own medicine," he cracked a crooked smile at her.

Amanda laughed weakly and wiped the stray tears away from her eyes. "Thanks, darling."

"Any time you need a human pillow, I'm here," he said with a smirk.

They'd come so far within the past few months. From screaming at each other and constantly cheating on each other to splitting up to getting back together and being passionately in love again to...this. Nightmares that wouldn't go away, flashbacks, and constant panic attacks but yet it felt worth it.

They were closer than they'd ever been before because of what had happened. Whenever her mind went back to that dark place, Michael was there with a cheesy movie line or some story about the stupid things they did when they were younger. Somehow, she knew that everything was going to be okay as long as they were together.

She leaned forward to press a light kiss to his lips. "I love you, Michael."

"I love you, too," was his quiet reply.

She trailed her fingers over the fresh scars on his arms, frowning. It had been over a month now since the accident and things were finally starting to heal. "Don't these bother you?" she asked.

Michael just shrugged. "Not really. Another one to add to the list."

"I wish I could feel that way…" Amanda muttered as she pulled her shirt over her head and stared at herself in the mirror. She stared at the healing, angry looking wounds covering her body. The jagged marks where the shrapnel had been embedded in her skin ran all the way from her chest to her stomach, some nothing more than tiny nicks, while one was almost the size of her fist. The few burns that accompanied the scars were a light pink now, making her almost pretend that she just had a sunburn instead of second degree burns.

She hated them. She'd always been a vain person, it was part of the reason why she had become a stripper. She had always taken pride in her once flawless body, now ruined by these big, ugly scars. Tears formed in her eyes before she could stop them.

Michael came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Scars fade, Amanda."

"Yeah…" she swallowed hard, nodding. "I know."

"We're both still here, alive. It...it coulda been so much worse…" he reminded her.

"I know," she repeated quietly.

He sighed at her lack of convincing confidence. Before she could protest, he picked her small frame up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a frown but wrapped her arms around his neck anyway.

"Making you feel better," he said as he set her down delicately on the mattress. He carefully positioned himself above her and took off his own shirt, revealing the old and new scars that dominated his body. "I've had some of these from before I first met you. Did you ever think less of me because of them?"

"No…" she admitted. "I liked them."

"Exactly. Look...I love you for you, not your body. Even I'm not that much of an asshole," he said with a chuckle. "These…" he trailed off as he placed kisses to the scars that adorned her body, "make you even more beautiful to me."

"Thank you, Michael…" For the first time since she'd been kidnapped, a genuine smile broke across her face. "I love you…" she said, pulling him into a kiss.

Michael kissed her back with equal fervor, only pulling away long enough to say, "Love you too, darlin'. Scars and everything."