A.N: Hey you lovely humans. I will skip the lame excuses why I didn't upload in ages. But i am sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I actually had this written for a while but wasn't quite happy with it. But after some minor changes I decided to upload it. I have a few chapters written so you should be safe in the uploads department for a while. Thanks for bearing with my unreliable ass.

vondydora: Thanks for your epic review and sorry I didn't write back for so long. Hmm. jenna? Interesting idea. I might do something with that.

Enjoy, buttercups.

Chapter 7

You rub your face furiously. You feel warm all over, as if his smile was the sun, warming your skin, shining on your face, basking your constricted chest in glorious sunshine.

All of this mixed with desperation in it's purest form. Ian. Ian. Ian. Fuck! You slam your fists down on your table. A paper stack falls from your desk. Your hands hurt. You don't care. You try to take a deep breath. You can't act like this just because you had a handsome client. Since when are you so melodramatic? Right. You aren't. Another deep breath.

You ask yourself if maybe there was more out there for you. More than a staged marriage and pain. Maybe even happiness. God. You are a lost cause. At the sight of a pair of pretty eyes you get all cheesy. But he is not just a pretty boy. He is warm and quick-witted. He has such a calm, joyful charisma, that makes you feel at ease. Oh boy, Hastings. You know the guy for what? Ten minutes and you already go all team Edward on him? You sigh.

It really is an idle discussion. With Ian there was no way you would allow yourself to explore Cavanaugh's "charisma" further. You have enough problems as it is.

Why did you decide to marry Ian? And why didn't you tell him to go to hell yesterday when you had the chance? Why did you let him break you? And why the fuck do you still love him? Why is your stupid heart so weak? Why does it light you up when he condescends to smiling at you, to actually being nice to you, kissing you tenderly on your forehead, after beating the shit out of you the night before? That's when he's especially nice to you. But your heart doesn't care. Doesn't call him the sick hypocrite he his. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Weak.

You wonder why your face is wet. You didn't even notice that you started crying. You feel a sharp pain in your chest. You slide from your chair and land on the floor. You wrap your arms around your torso. The painful tugging doesn't lessen. You just want all the crap to end. Not to have to deal with Ian and yourself. To stop the pain and the weakness and the self loath.

Your breath quickens and your sight blurs. No. Not this again. You can't have a panic attack work. You blindly reach for your phone and call the number of the one person you know will be there for you no questions asked.

10 minutes later your door opens.

"Spence?"

You sniffle and shift in your position on the floor. You hear footsteps move around the desk and a pair of high heels comes into your vision. You look up into brown eyes so similar to yours. They look back worriedly. You close your eyes and lean your head back against your table.

You feel her crouch down next to you. You try to even your breathing, but you can't. She takes your head between her lean fingers.

"Open your eyes, Spence." You obey. "Good. Now try to breath in my rhythm."

"Breath in …. and out. Try again. In …. and out. Better. One more time. Concentrate. In …. and out. Good. Calm down. Everything is fine. I'm here."

The last part is quiet, just barely a murmur and despite it's partial untruthfulness still comforting.

When you are calm enough you lift one corner of your mouth in a sorry attempt of a smile.

"Hey Shorty." She then whispers softly.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "You do know that I'm taller than you, right Melissa?" You smile a bit.

She smiles back. "It's inner size that counts." She counters lightly and sits down on the floor next to you.

You grin and choose not to answer that. You already feel better. Your sister does know how to cheer you up. "Thanks for coming." You finally say.

"Sure. You alright there?"

You shrug. Your smile faltering.

"Is it about Ian?"

You shrug again. You can't really say yourself. A picture of sparkling blue eyes flashes through your mind.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shake your head. You see her nod like she already knew that. She probably did. You usually don't talk about the Ian stuff. But your brainy counterpart probably has a hunch. Although you doubt that she knows the extent of it. If she did she'd rip Ian apart with her bare hands. Or, knowing your sister, she'd probably just inject him with some undetectable poison. It's scary to know how many of them exist. If a medic wants you dead, you will be and nobody will ever find evidence.

"Sushi for lunch? Your treat?"

Your head shoots up. "My treat? What kind of consolation is that?"

She grins. "I heard about the Rosenberg case. I don't think the guilty bastard let you walk away with empty pockets now, did he?"

"Duh! He better shows a bit gratitude for keeping his filthy rich ass out of jail!"

She stands. "No morals."

"I'm a lawyer. What's your excuse?"

Your sister laughs and extends her hands to help you up. You smile and take them.

You go and eat sushi. You joke and laugh and complain about your parents. Melissa complains about the work in the hospital, about Wren and a bit more about your parents. Then you just keep walking around, delaying your arrival at work.

"Are you going to Mum and Dad's thanksgiving party?" She asks.

"Oh lord, no. Please don't tell me they are doing that again."

"They are doing it every year, Spence."

"There still can be hope, right?"

"I thought hope breeds eternal misery?"

"You actually listen to me?"

"From time to time I can't tune you out completely."

"Haha." You shove her playfully and she chuckles.

"So, how is it going with Wren. I mean besides the fact that he refuses to throw away his beer mug collection?"

Your sister smiles and it is honest. You would know, because you haven't smiled like this at the mention of Ian in over six years.

"It's still great. He can be a pain in the ass, really. But I love him. The hospital is tough, though. With him working there, too, it's difficult to be home at the same time and then leave work in the hospital."

"I can imagine."

"Actually, we considered opening our own doctor's office."

"Really? That would be awesome!"

"Yeah, we think so, too. Maybe we even would have time for … family."

She smiles shyly at you.

"Wow! Lissa! That's a big step. You guys actually talked about it?"

"Yeah. I mean... a bit, but he seemed excited about the idea."

"You gonna keep living in sin then or am I hearing wedding bells?"

She laughs. "I don't know. I may be emancipated but I still want him to get on one knee and ask me like the Lady I am."

You cough to hide your laughter. She pinches your ass. "HEY! Owww! That hurt!" You rub your right cheek.

"My feelings did, too."

"Oh, yeah. The famous Hastings-sensitivity. I forgot about that."

In precaution you make a step to the left, bringing your body out of the danger-zone. She just glares at you for a few seconds.

"So. Is your little rascal gonna grow up bilingual or what?"

Melissa shoots you a confused glance. "What?"

"Well, are you going to teach him american and british english?"

Your sister rolls her eyes. "Very funny."

"No. I'm being serious here."

"Sure you are." She grins. "He will probably speak american english, but will be able to copy his father's british accent in a heartbeat to swoon the ladies."

"You mean like his dad?"

That earns you swat on the shoulder.

"That's not true!"

"Oh come on. I heard him speak perfect american english when he had his Harrison-Ford-phase."

Your sister hides her face in her hands. "Oh god. That was awful."

You snicker. "I thought it was hilarious. Especially when he actually started to carry that whip around."

"Please don't remind me. At some point I just snuck into his closet and threw it away. He still wonders where it went."

"I think I may buy him a new one for christmas. Or better you?"

You wink at her and she snorts. "Maybe he'd learn a lesson or two."

You know that it was a joke and that your comment didn't leave much other room for come backs, but you still feel your stomach contract at these words. You grimace. You try to catch yourself, but before you have a chance, you feel your sisters scrutinizing eyes on you.

"What's going on Spence?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on. Don't give me that crap. I mean, you did call me in the middle of the day to come to your office because you had a panic attack. Plus you're on edge, more so than normally."

You scowl when your sister broke that unspoken agreement not to talk about the circumstances that often required her immediate arrival. "It's nothing." You sound tired even to your own ears.

Melissa scoffs. "Sure. It always is. Did you call that therapist I recommended you?"

No, of course you didn't, because if you did, you'd have to confront the fact that you were being beaten by your husband and justify not doing anything about it.

"Since when do you care?" It is stupid. Really stupid since you know that she does care, but right now you don't want her to. So you lash out.

What would have provoked a sisterly quarrel with the utmost certainty few years back, was now just commented by the mild raising of Melissa's left eyebrow.

"Is that a no?"

It's something that you both learned with age. Not to react on certain provocations, but to ask where it came from, to ask what made the other one say that. And if that question was then articulated, it could take the wind out of the other's sails very quickly. Your sister mastered this art of metacommunication even before you did. It's partly what helped you to stop jumping down each other's throats so quickly.

"I don't want to talk about it, alright?" Your voice is cold and laced with anger. Now you just try to push her away, before she comes to close.

"I know, Spence. And you know that I respect that, but I don't think it's working anymore."

"I'm handling it."

"I hope so." Your sister sighs deeply and lays an arm around your fragile shoulders. "I'm just worried for my little sister."

You finally meet her gaze. You grind your teeth so the loving worry in Melissa's brown eyes doesn't make you teary-eyed. "I know you are, Liss. But I can handle it. Just let it go. Please?"

Her eyes narrow slightly, but then she nods curtly and changes the subject to your parents awful thanksgiving party.

You're so glad that you and your sister buried your decades-old fight. After the whole Ian blow-up your sister met Wren and you started dating Ian. You co-existed. You weren't openly hostile but you didn't talk either. But the not-talking was less aggressive with each happy day she had with Wren. After a while there was small talk. Little peace offerings in forms of giant bowls of horrible Hastings-coffee. Turns out it's genetic.

When you married Ian your sister was your bridesmaid. All proud and cheery. You were evidently marrying the love of your life. Who was she to stand in the way of true love?

You cringe at the thought. How would your sister react if she knew, that you destroyed her relationship for nothing. For being with a worthless piece of crap. A charming motherfucker. But better you than her. Although she'd already have put her foot down. Left him the first time he'd lift his hand against her. She is strong. You are weak.

A.N: Hope you liked it. Let me know what you think. I'm open to discussing plot ideas. We are one big team here. Oh sorry. Let me get that for you *rubs over display* I dripped some cheese you.