Sorry for another later update! I haven't had much time to write lately, but the weekly updates will return starting Thursday. Anyways, this chapter is kind of a part two of the last one, except the roles are a bit reversed and it's set a few months before the last one. Sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed, it was kind of late when I finished it. Enjoy :D

Amanda wasn't quite sure when the breaking point was, when their relationship had fallen apart. It had started with Michael being a bit quieter than normal, being out a bit later than usual. At first, she didn't think anything of it. Sometimes he remembered some of the things he'd had to do before they'd moved to Los Santos and felt bad about it for a few days at a time. She thought it'd just go away with time.

But then the days turned into months and then the months turned into years and he hadn't gotten better. At any given time, he was either drinking or sitting by the pool, drowning in his self-pity. They never talked anymore. Never touched and it wasn't just the absence of sex, even though she missed that, too. They didn't kiss at all and slept as far apart as they could. He didn't make an effort to spend any time with the kids, leaving her to try and raise them by herself, which, in hindsight, she hadn't done a very good job of. His temper got worse, leading to arguments over the stupidest things.

The small arguments devolved into full-on screaming matches that lasted for hours at a time until one night she came home and found him in bed with a stripper. That was two years ago and things had only gotten worse. She'd gotten revenge by doing the same thing to him, but in the end it just felt hollow.

Over twenty years ago, she fell in love with the most charming, brilliant man she'd ever seen. Now here they were, bitter forty year olds sitting as far apart on the couch as they could in awkward silence as one of his old movies played in the background. She could see the irritated tick of his jaw when he glanced over at her, could see the poorly contained anger in his eyes. She began to wonder if he was thinking the same things as she was.

Amanda could barely take it anymore. "Well, isn't this just great? A husband and wife spending quality time together," she said sarcastically.

"Oh, you said it. Makes a nice change of pace for you, from banging some stranger then weeping," his voice was a mocking whimper at the end of the sentence, a cruel smirk on his face.

"I wanted our marriage to work, Michael," she sighed.

He chuckled as he finished the half-empty drink in his hand. "Nothing like boning the help to give those old marriage vows that extra kick!" was his sarcastic reply.

She stared at him in disbelief. "Really? From you?! You self-pitying jerk! You ridiculous hypocrite!" her voice rose with each insult.

"I'm not a ridiculous hypocrite, I'm a perfectly good hypocrite!" Michael said in self-defense.

"No, you're just selfish and annoying!"

He rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. "I'm a lot more than that…" he said as he poured himself another drink.

She followed him into the kitchen, not done yet. "Well, you said it!"

Michael sighed and downed the glass of whiskey. "God damn it, Amanda, what do you want from me?!" he growled, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I want my husband back!" she said, voice shaking with rage.

He just looked at her in bewilderment. "I'm right in front of you, I haven't left!"

Amanda shook her head. "You're here...but you're not really here."

"What is this, fucking riddles?!" he snapped.

"We both know that you're not who you used to be. What happened to the man I married?" Tears of mascara helplessly ran down her cheeks as she stared at him, failing to reconcile the man in front of her with the one she loved, the one who would passionately talk about old movies to her, who would flirt in cheesy clichés.

"He's gone!" Michael yelled, fists clenched at his sides. "He's been gone for a long time and he's not gonna come back!" He reached for the bottle of whiskey again, staggering a little as he did so.

She looked at him in disgust. "You're gonna make yourself sick."

A bitter laugh came from his lips, fingers in a death grip around his glass. "I already am. I'm sick of your attitude, I'm sick of you banging every guy you can find, and I'm sick of this fuckin' game we play!" The glass crushed beneath his hand, glass shards and whiskey going everywhere. Michael just let out a deep, regretful breath as he calmly walked over to the first aid kit and wrapped a bandage around his now-bleeding hand.

"That's nice, dear. Really nice," she said in defeat. "I'm going to bed. Feel free to sleep on the couch tonight."

"Fine." He turned around and grabbed his car keys from the table.

"Where are you going?" she asked, sighing.

His jaw twitched in barely concealed annoyance. "Out."

"Just tell me."

"It's not important," he muttered.

"I just want to know if and when I need to call your friends to make sure you're not dead somewhere!" Her voice had escalated to a shout by the end of the sentence.

Michael angrily turned around to face her. "You're not an FIB agent! You don't get to know where I am all day! Jesus…"

She wiped the tears away from her eyes. "You are really pathetic, Michael. Pathetic."

"Yep…" he said under his breath as she turned around and walked away from him. He didn't bother coming after her. She made it all the way into the bedroom before hearing the front door slam and his car peeling out of the driveway. She buried her face into her pillow before letting herself cry again.

Eventually, when her sobs subsided, she sat up and put her face in her hands before pulling them away in disgust. Through her blurry haze of tears and anger, she stared down at the wedding ring on her finger. All she could see was Michael's huge smile when he first slipped that ring onto her finger so many years ago. They'd been so in love then, so happy...and now look at them…

She pulled the ring from her finger and threw it as hard as she could across the room. It bounced to the floor, but she didn't lift her head to see where it landed, instead laying back down and shutting her eyes, feeling fresh tears well up in them as she wondered where they went wrong.

He came back a few hours later. She could tell that he'd had a bit too much to drink by the scent of alcohol following him, his muffled curses as he struggled with the door. "Fuckin' A…" he slurred when he finally got the door open.

She sat up, squinting through the pitch black of the room, coupled with the fact that she didn't have her contacts in. A part of her wanted to yell at him for not sleeping on the couch, but judging by the way he was acting, he was too drunk to remember their fight. In all honesty, she was just too tired to argue with him anymore.

The light shone on his face, revealing his beat-up appearance. He was a mess, one eye blackened and blood glistening on his lips and clothes. Amanda couldn't help but feel that she was partly to blame for the fight he had obviously gotten into. "Where were you?" she asked, watching as he limped across the room.

"The bar," was his short reply before he disappeared into their closet and into the bathroom. She heard his muted grunts of pain followed by the sound of the shower turning on. A few minutes later, he emerged, bandaged and in clean clothes. The bed dipped slightly as he laid down next to her.

She shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Michael shifted restlessly next to her before eventually laying on his side facing her. He let out a deep, regretful sigh and wrapped an arm around her waist, not noticing the way her body tensed beneath him. "Fuck...I messed up…" he mumbled.

Her breath hitched in her throat. Was he finally beginning to realize what he'd done wrong…? She shook her head slightly at the ridiculous thought. It had to be the drunkenness talking, no way he'd say this kind of thing otherwise. She hoped that he didn't notice her heart practically pounding out of her chest.

"I'm such an asshole…" he continued. "An' now you hate me…"

"I don't hate you, Michael. I hate what you've turned into." The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

His arm instantly pulled away from her. "You-you're awake?" he stuttered.

"Yeah…" she whispered.

He started to panic a little. "Oh, uh, sorry 'bout that…"

"It's okay," she said shakily. She heard him move a little bit, then felt his hand tentatively run through her hair. Amanda shifted uncomfortably away from him. "Not in the mood, Michael."

He paused for a second, to move away, probably, but instead pressed his body against hers. "We don't need to do that...I don't even wanna do that. I just wanna hold you…jus' for a little bit," he murmured.

He sounded so innocent in that moment that she couldn't say no. She just nodded because she couldn't trust her mouth to form any more words.

Michael sighed in relief against her. "Thanks, Mandy…"

They laid there in silence for a few minutes until she turned on her side to face him. She gently held his jaw in her hand, stroking the bruises covering his stubbled jawline before biting her lip hesitantly. "What happened?"

"Drunk and stupid. Nothin' new." His voice sounded so tired, as if he hadn't slept for years. His hand grabbed her free one, black and blue knuckles resting over the spot where her wedding ring would be. "I'm fine."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at the empty space on her finger. Michael brushed them away before they had a chance to escape down her cheeks. "About earlier…" she started.

"What 'bout it?" he replied, reaching over and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Did this fight have anything to do with what happened?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head forcefully.

"I don't want you getting into danger because of me-"

He cut her off quickly. "I got in danger 'cause of me, okay? I'm just a worthless old fucker that always gets himself into stupid ass situations," he slurred angrily, not able to meet her eyes. His own sad blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, filled with regret and disappointment.

"You're more than that…" she pleaded desperately. Maybe tonight was the night where she'd make him realize that they could make things work, that they could be happy again. If she could just make him see...

"Maybe I used to be. Sure as hell ain't anymore," he laughed quietly, but it was nothing more than a bitter, hollow chuckle. "Look...thanks for trying to boost my self-confidence or whatever the hell you're doing...but we both know that this marriage is a fuckin' joke now."

She opened her mouth to say that it wasn't before shutting it again. Why bother? He wouldn't even remember this conversation in the morning and they'd go back to awkwardly avoiding each other like always. No matter how hard she tried, he wouldn't change. "I'm laughing on the inside," Amanda said sarcastically.

Michael just looked at her, sighing. He reached up and gently caressed her face with a love he hadn't shown her in years. "'Manda…" he murmured.

She swallowed nervously. This was the most open and affectionate he'd been in a long time. "Y-yeah?" she asked, voice trembling.

"Why did I hafta screw up everything good in our life…?" he mumbled sadly.

Amanda honestly didn't know how to respond to that. So many things had happened between them these last few years, a lot of them his fault, but she knew that a lot of things were her fault, too. "You didn't," she whispered.

He sighed in frustration. "Yes, I did...we wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me. I've made a mess of everything since...since always-"

A sudden kiss to the lips cut off his protests. An unspoken agreement formed between them in that instant: no more arguing, no more fighting, just for a moment. Michael sat up, pulling her into his lap and pressing her against the headboard.

The taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue as it crushed against hers. He kissed her feverently, as if it was the last kiss they'd ever have, hands resting on her hips while hers sifted through his hair. Urgently, his mouth pulled away from hers and roamed along her neck, her jaw, stubble rough against her skin.

Eventually, he pulled away, breathing heavily and looking at her through regretful eyes. "I'm sorry…" he murmured sadly.

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers entangling in the fabric of his shirt. "For what?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"For all of this...we had somethin' good going on and I threw it all away…" his voice cracked slightly. His hand shook as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "All of it…" he whispered, eyes becoming distant and faraway.

Her hand reached up to cup his jaw and tilt his face up to hers. "Hey, look at me," she said before giving him a quick kiss. "I fucked up, too. I've done a lot of things that I regret, Michael. It's not all your fault."

Michael let out a deep breath and buried his head into her shoulder. "I'm sorry…" he repeated tiredly.

Amanda ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him down. "It's okay…" she lied, feeling the tears running down her face.

They stayed like for a while until he pulled away and gave her a broken smile. "Thanks, sweetheart…" he said innocently. In that moment, he wasn't the man who had cheated on her and betrayed her. He wasn't her enemy. He was just that frustratingly charming, romantic boy that she used to know. Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Her hands wandered up the front of his shirt, which he quickly shed before taking off her tank top. It was wrong, she knew, to take advantage of him when he was drunk like this, but she couldn't help it. It made her feel like they were normal again. Like they were young and in love again.

He laid her down and moved on top of her with a gentleness that she hadn't seen in a long time. Without breaking the kiss, he tugged her shorts and underwear off with one hand, the other caressing her face. She pulled away, gasping for breath, and struggled with the opening of his boxers.

Before she knew it, she was delicately pressing kisses to the bruises on his jaw before her lips moved up and brushed against his ear as she whispered encouragement to him. It was slow, slower than they were used to, but as loving and passionate as the day they got married.

Her hips arched under his ministrations and her ability to speak disappeared. Michael just smiled and increased his pace, encouraged by her incoherent moans. Every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire. It was nothing compared to what her tennis coach or any other guy she'd been with besides Michael made her feel.

For a second, he pulled back and stared down at her in wonderment. Strands of his hair had fallen into his forehead, stuck there with sweat, and he was panting as he murmured, "You're perfect…" He leaned down, his lips finding the side of her neck once again. "...you're perfect…" he repeated, voice muffled against her skin.

Amanda just pulled him closer, one hand gripping his hair while the other desperately clutched at the bedsheets. It felt like a dream, with her husband kissing her everywhere and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. If it was, she didn't want to wake up ever again. She whimpered pleadingly as he started to draw it out, started to tease her. "Michael, please…" she begged.

His dark blue eyes brightened. "Come on, baby."

That was all she needed. A few more seconds and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. The fire was put out, the heat between her legs cooling rapidly. Her body shook underneath him and he held her in his arms as she caught her breath, peppering her skin with kisses. She shut her eyes briefly, only opening them when she felt him move and get up.

"Be right back," he assured her before heading into their bathroom. A couple of minutes later, he returned, cleaned up and holding a damp washcloth in his hands.

Michael laid back down next to her and gently ran the washcloth along her body, silent as he cleaned her off. When he was done, he tossed it aside and turned onto his back, sighing in exhaustion.

She pulled his head into her lap, fingers threading through his damp hair. A low hum of contentment came from the back of his throat as he pressed his head into her palm. "I love you, 'Manda…" he slurred as his eyes fluttered shut.

"I know," she said calmly, hands still buried in his hair. She waited until he was asleep to say, "I love you, too…"

Amanda woke up the next morning feeling better than she had in months. Michael was still dead to the world when she got up, so she didn't bother him. She took in the state of their room, at their clothes littered on the floor, before getting dressed and going down into the kitchen.

She put on some coffee, impatiently waiting for it to be ready and nearly burning herself on her grateful first sip when it was ready. Halfway through her second cup, Michael came downstairs, looking exhausted. The stubble on his jaw was a bit thicker than usual and the bruises on his face looked worse than they did the previous night. "Good morning, Michael," she greeted with a hesitant smile.

He just looked at her in confusion. "Why are you so chipper?" he grunted as he poured his own mug. "Did you get off on yelling at me yesterday or something?"

Fear started to set in her. Yeah, he was drunk last night, but he couldn't have been drunk enough to forget everything. "Is that all you remember about last night?" she asked.

"No. I left and then got in this stupid fuckin' fight," he said, gesturing to his face, "then I got home and passed out."

A bitter taste formed in her mouth. All that had happened between him and the only thing he remembered was that dumb argument they had gotten into…

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Michael glared at her in suspicion.

She sighed sadly. "Like what?"

"I'm too hungover for this shit…" he muttered under his breath. "Did I do something dumb when I got home or…?"

Amanda stared at him helplessly. Whatever glimpses she had seen of the man she was with last night was gone, replaced by a bitter, angry shell of himself. Maybe she had been right after all, that he wouldn't change. She'd been stupid enough to think that one drunken night that he didn't even know existed would be the thing that would save their relationship. She swallowed hard, trying to keep herself from crying. "Nothing," she said shakily. "You did nothing, Michael."